


Splashing Photographs

by this_is_kelly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 02:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_kelly/pseuds/this_is_kelly
Summary: Life is fairly simple for Merlin; he owns a little shop on Hill Street, goes to the coffeehouse next door every morning for a black tea, spends his spare time taking photographs or grabbing a pint with his mates down at the local pub, and being content at the simplicity of it all. But everything is drastically altered when one afternoon Arthur Pendragon, the world’s finest young actor, walks into his store and his life.





	Splashing Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on Notting Hill, which I watched before writing this several years ago. Publishing here now.

 

**Splashing Photographs**

            Merlin walked through Hill Street, passing by all the merchants with their carts, selling fruits and vegetables, flowers, and handmade jewelry.  He had a small art shop nestled between a used book store and a coffeehouse where he got all his caffeine fixes.  His shop sold photographs, some framed, some prints, but all originals.  The walls were brick, painted white and blue, and there was a flat above the shop where Merlin lived.

            Saturdays were always busy with foot traffic, so Merlin hired a local girl from the village to help ring customers up.  She sometimes worked after school during the week, but mainly just on the weekends.  She talked a lot, but was quite a hard worker, and somehow she never seemed to notice that Merlin didn’t usually talk back.

            Merlin closed the door at the top of the stairs and locked it behind him.  He walked down into the shop.  In his hands were a stack of new photographs just developed and ready to show.  He pinned them to a handmade bulletin board on the far wall.  His eyes scanned them and he took in a deep breath.  Nodding once, he turned and left his shop, going to the coffeehouse next door.

            “MERLIN!” the two baristas behind the counter yelled.

            Merlin grinned and flushed as several customers turned and looked at him.  He didn’t recognize any of the patrons, which usually happened on Saturdays.  The village of Camelot Heights was only a two-hour train ride from the city and people often came down to view the shops and eat the local food.  It was odd how the tourists defined the village only on the weekends, keeping the weekdays slow and relaxing.  Even though Merlin didn’t know the names of everyone in the village, almost everyone knew him, simply because he owned one of the shops on the main street.

            “Morning,” acknowledged Merlin, walking to the counter. “I’ll have a tea, please.”

            “Which would you like?” asked the girl, her smile widening.

            “Surprise me,” replied Merlin.  He fished his money out of his pocket and handed it to the girl once she turned back around with his cup of tea.  If he tried, he was sure he could remember her name, but she was like Freya, his shop assistant, just a girl from the local school who needed a part-time job.  Most of the baristas were just like that.

            “Careful, it’s hot.”

            Merlin nodded.  “Right.  Thanks.” He left the coffee house, his tea cupped between his hands, and went back to his shop.  He opened the door all the way, letting the cool spring breeze filter in.  Almost immediately, customers began to enter.  He had a few large photographs on the walls, but those rarely sold. Normally the tourists were only interested in the smaller prints, the ones that could be made into postcards or stuck underneath the wooden frame of a bedroom mirror.  Sometimes his smaller framed prints sold, which was always nice, but surprisingly most customers walked away with _something_.

            The day was long and Freya helped enormously by ringing up all the customers without taking a single break.  Merlin let her go home early, thanking her for her hard work, and stood behind the counter, counting the receipts.  There was only another thirty minutes before the shop officially closed for the night.  His best friend Gwen had made him buy a computer that connected to his cash register and she installed a program that helped document and inventory all of his prints.  It helped him keep up with exactly which photos were selling, how many sold, and whether he should try to sell more of the same in the future.  Merlin hated technology, but he had to admit that Gwen’s funky little computer program was helping him with his sales.

            The bell above the door rang and Merlin looked up. A young blonde-haired man walked in wearing sunglasses and a slick leather jacket.  His jeans were dark and looked tailored, his shoes black and expensive. In his hands were several bags from the local stores down Hill Street.

            “May I help you?” asked Merlin, narrowing his eyes slightly, trying to place the man who was now in his shop.  He looked very familiar, but Merlin couldn’t quite figure out why he looked so familiar.

            “Just browsing,” the man said.

            “You might be able to see the photos better if you took off your sunglasses,” joked Merlin.

            The man smirked, but Merlin couldn’t tell if he thought it was amusing or annoying.  Either way, he removed his glasses and Merlin almost choked.  He avoided the man’s gaze and continued to count his receipts, even though his brain was a jumbled mess.  _Arthur Pendragon_ was in his art shop.  Everyone knew Arthur Pendragon; he was the premiere movie star, in every big picture that played in the theaters, his face always on the cover on magazines and in the tabloids.  Even someone like Merlin, who didn’t own a television and only checked his emails on Monday mornings, knew who Arthur Pendragon was.

            “Do you have one of the sea?” Arthur asked.

            “What?  Oh, yeah, hold on.”  Merlin put his receipts down and walked to the other side of the counter.  He went to a shelf in the middle of his store. “They’re here.  The first two rows are all photographs of the sea right here in Camelot Heights.  The prices are on the back.”

            Arthur Pendragon walked over.  He had stuck his sunglasses in the open V of his button-down shirt.  He flipped through the photographs, which were all backed against a piece of cardboard and wrapped in clear paper.

            “Er, be careful,” said Merlin tentatively as Arthur roughly looked through the photos.

            “These are good, who took them?”

            “Oh, you know . . . local artist . . .” Merlin cleared his throat.  “If you’re interested in any, I’ll be, er, over there. . . .”  He cringed at himself as he turned and walked to another shelf, noticing the pictures were all out of order.  He had them organized by theme, but on Saturdays, when the crowds came through, people never seemed to care about keeping things in order.

            “I’ll take these,” said Arthur, coming up behind Merlin.

            Merlin turned and his heart jumped when he realized how close Arthur was behind him.   He took the two photographs from Arthur’s hand, their fingers brushing.  Merlin felt his face heat up and he quickly turned around and went to the register.  He rang up the two photographs.

            “Do you want me to put these in a bag?”

            Arthur shrugged.  “How else would I carry them?”

            Merlin pressed his lips together, but didn’t answer, and put the two photos in a small brown bag.  “Twenty pounds even,” he said.  He took Arthur’s money with a smile.  “Thanks.”

            Arthur took the bag and his copy of the receipt. “Yeah.”  He paused and Merlin wasn’t sure exactly what to say.  “So, are there any good restaurants in this town?”

            “Er,” said Merlin, thinking, but for some reason his mind was blank.

            Arthur raised his eyebrows, as if to ask, _what the hell is wrong with you?_

            “There’s Café Lily just down the street.  They serve lovely Mediterranean food.  Or there’s a place called Nathalie’s Fish House, which serves seafood and is very laid back.  If you like steak, there’s a place called Parker’s, which is very expensive so normally it’s only full of tourists.”

            “Where do the locals usually go?  I don’t want a place with loads of tourists.”

            “Oh.  Well, I suppose my mates and I go to a place called Leon’s.  It’s a bit hidden so we don’t usually see many tourists there – or at least not as many as go to Zucca’s or Eddie’s Attic.”

            “Where is it?  I get tired of people from the city.”

            “It’s against Local Law for me to divulge that information,” said Merlin cheekily.

            Arthur smirked, but again Merlin couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated.  Arthur held up an iPhone in a red case.  “I’ll find it.  Thanks for the tip.”  With that, Arthur turned.  He was halfway out the door when a girl from the coffeehouse next door came inside; they crashed into one another.

            “SHIT!” the girl cried.

            “ _Gwen_!” Merlin shouted, running over to them.  There was coffee on the floor – and all over Arthur Pendragon.

            “Oh my god,” said Gwen.  “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so – oh fuck me.”

            Arthur raised his eyebrows; this time his expression said _What the hell?_

            “You’re Arthur Pendragon,” Gwen breathed.  “I just spilled coffee on Arthur Pendragon.”

            “What are you doing here, Gwen?” asked Merlin.

            “I was on my break and I thought you might like some coffee.  You’re the biggest coffee drinker in Camelot Heights, Merlin, and I just . . . oh, bugger.”

            “Do you have a towel or something?” asked Arthur. “Or should I just stand here dripping?”

            “Oh, yes, of course.  Goodbye, Gwen,” said Merlin, looking pointedly at his friend. Gwen looked really guilty, but backed out of the shop.  Merlin locked the door behind her.  He looked at Arthur and tried to smile.  “I live in the flat upstairs.  You can clean up in the bathroom.  With towels and running water and the like.”

            Arthur remained expressionless.

            “So, er, come on.”  Merlin went to the stairs and climbed.  At the top, he unlocked the door and turned on the lights.  His flat was cluttered, photographs covered the dining table, folded-up clean laundry sat on top of the coffee table, bottles of beer lined the kitchen counter, waiting to be recycled.

            Arthur stood in the middle of the living room, looking around.

            “Bathroom’s through that door,” said Merlin, pointing to an open door just down the little hallway.  “The towels are on a shelf in there, too.  Help yourself.”

            Arthur nodded and turned.  He sat his shopping bags outside the door and went into the bathroom.

            Once Arthur was out of sight, Merlin shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle his scream.  What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?  Arthur bloody Pendragon was in his bathroom _right now_.  His flat was fairly small.  The bathroom was old and some of the tile was missing in the shower.  His living room was also his dining room and also his office, all in one, with all his furniture smooshed together without any sense of rhyme or reason.  The kitchen was there, too, small and very, very white.  A door off the kitchen led to the spare bedroom, which Merlin used solely as a darkroom.  Another door was next to the bathroom, which was the main bedroom where Merlin slept. Merlin turned and went to his dining table, and looked through the photographs, trying to focus on lowering his blood pressure.

            Arthur came out of the bathroom.  He had changed out of his wet, stained shirt and had on a brand new shirt, one that Merlin recognized from one of the local shops. It was fitted on Arthur, hugged the biceps of his arms.  Merlin blinked and tore his eyes away from the actor and his lovely shoulders.

            Arthur walked over to the table and looked at the photographs.  He picked up one and studied it closely.  “Who’s this?”

            “Er,” said Merlin, glancing at the photo. “That’s Will.  He used to live here in the village.”  Merlin knew the photograph by heart.  It was of a boy named Will, who, at the time, had been twenty-two years old.  He was laughing, tangled up in white bed sheets, his chest bare, and his hands behind his head.  There were other photos in the same series, as Arthur was noticing.  He picked up a second photograph, this one of two feet tangled in the same sheets.  Another of two hands intertwined, and another of two pairs of hairy, masculine legs.

            “These are brilliant,” said Arthur.  “Who’s Will?”  He glanced at Merlin.

            “Will was my, er, boyfriend.”

            “Huh,” said Arthur, the corners of his mouth frowning. “Interesting.”  His eyes raked Merlin up and down, as though assessing him. “I never would have guessed.”

            “Never guessed what?”

            Arthur looked back at the photograph in his hand. “That you fancied blokes.  You look so normal.”

            “Ah,” said Merlin.  Then, “Pardon?”

“So you took these photos?” asked Arthur, clearly ignoring Merlin’s confusion.

            “Yes.”

            “And all the ones downstairs?”

            Merlin shook his head.  “No.  Most of them are mine, but a few are from local artists.  Whenever I sell them, I keep a percentage and the rest goes to the artist.  It’s a very fair deal, actually.  Anyway.”

            “Right.”

            Merlin cleared his throat. 

            “What’s your name?”

            “Merlin Emrys.”

            Arthur nodded.  “Well, thanks for letting me use your loo, Merlin.”

            “Anytime.  Have, er, a good time in the village.”

            “I will.”

            “And stop at Leon’s.  He has the best fish and chips in town.”

            “Thanks. . . .”  Arthur went and picked up his shopping bags.  “So, I’ll see myself out, then?”

            “What?  Oh!” Merlin walked to the door and unlocked it.  He went down the stairs and opened the front door to his shop and held it open for Arthur.

            “See you around,” said Arthur, putting his sunglasses back on, his leather jacket draped over one arm.  He held out his hand for Merlin to shake.  “Best not tell anyone about the loo.  Journalists can make up a three-page spread about a little story like that.”

            “Right, right, of course,” agreed Merlin. “Definitely won’t tell anyone about that.  Not even Gwen, who, you know, did the spilling . . . of the coffee.”

            Arthur smirked yet again and left, walking down the street towards Camelot Inn, the nicest hotel in the village.

            Merlin closed the door behind him and locked it. He turned around and slumped against the door.  “Oh my shit,” he said aloud, “Arthur bloody Pendragon was in my loo.”

______

            Back upstairs, Merlin noticed that Arthur had left a bag behind.  He looked at it warily, unsure of what to do with it.  He figured Arthur would be staying at Camelot Inn – where else would he stay other than the most expensive hotel in town? – but he couldn’t very well call up there, asking to be put through to Arthur Pendragon’s room.  In fact, if Arthur was clever, which he probably was, then he wouldn’t have a reservation under his real name in the first place. 

            Actually, he was a bit of a git.  Merlin tried imitating Arthur’s smirk, mimicking the facial expressions the best he could.  Then he laughed; there was clearly a reason why he stayed behind the camera and was not an actor.  Still, it had been interesting having someone famous inside his shop; that had never happened before.  Arthur Pendragon was a real person, which was ironically rather surreal.  There was no escaping that face, but Merlin had the distinct impression that all the photographs he’d seen of Arthur were taken by paparazzi, if the way they were splashed across the tabloids was any indication.

            Merlin sighed.  He went to his table and looked at his photos.  He’d had the ones of Will developed for a while, but had no idea what he should do with them.  Everyone in town had known Will and it hadn’t really been any sort of issue, but there was the lingering memory of him, the way it hurt knowing Will was gone from his life.  Perhaps the photographs _were_ good and he should showcase them in his shop, perhaps the ones where neither of their faces were showing. There was no denying that the legs or the hands in the photos belonged to two men, but there was a fair share of gay men and women who visited the village, as it was known as one of the most gay-friendly towns in all of Britain.  Merlin sighed again.  These photos had taken up so much of his past, perhaps it was time to move them off his table after all.

            For a moment, Merlin tinkered with the idea of going down to Leon’s to see if any of his mates were there.  Gwen was probably still at work; she always closed up the coffeehouse.  But Leon would be bartending, since he always bartended on Saturdays.  Gwaine would most likely be there, working on his third pint, since he was _always_ working on his third pint whenever Merlin showed up at the pub.

            Merlin took his phone out of his pocket.  He had three new messages, all from Gwen.

 

            _I am the world’s biggest arse._

_I cannot believe I spilled coffee all over Arthur Pendragon._

_He’s hot, even before all the hot coffee…_

           

            Merlin laughed and sent her a reply:  _He may be hot, but I think he’s a bit of an arrogant arse.  Polite, but arrogant._   He could picture Gwen being thoroughly distressed over the whole situation.  She was such a sweet girl and would definitely be horrified over spilling coffee all over a famous actor, even though it was probably very insignificant to someone as important as Arthur Pendragon.  Merlin sent her another message, _Come drink away your embarrassment at Leon’s.  I’m heading down there in a mo’._

            Shoving his phone back in his pocket, Merlin grabbed his keys and turned off the lights in his little flat.  Arthur had been polite, that was true, but just something about him rubbed Merlin the wrong way.  Then again, he knew nothing about being famous and maybe that’s just how famous people were.

            The walk to Leon’s took about fifteen minutes and Merlin had wished he’d brought a jacket.  He walked into the pub and found it busier than he expected.  It used to be a garage and Leon had kept much of that same décor.  There was a side door that served as the main entrance during the winter, but when the weather was nice, he opened up the two garage doors, letting the air come into the pub.  On the walls were ads for oil, Coke-a-Cola, and tires.  Tables were haphazardly situated with no discernable order. Outside, there were still two gas pumps, although neither worked.  Leon employed two waitresses on the weekend nights and they were running around, table to table, taking orders and delivering drinks.

            Merlin spotted Gwaine at the bar, a pint between his hands, staring up at the television above the shelves of liquor. He slid onto the bar stool next to his friend. 

            “Busy day?”

            Gwaine turned and upon noticing it was Merlin next to him, grinned.  “Cheers, mate!  Yes, we were slammed all day.  I hate children.”

            Merlin grinned.  Gwaine had inherited a toy shop from his grandparents when they died.  He hadn’t the heart to sell it, but he also hated working in it.  He was good with his hands, so he carved a lot of original toys from wood, painted them, and sold them at unbelievably high prices.  The rest of the toys he bought wholesale from a supplier and sold.  He should have probably sold the shop, as grumpy as he usually was with parents and how disgusted he got watching children sneeze all day into their open hands, but he kept saying he knew his parents would turn over in their graves if they knew their son sold the family business.  He lived with his older brother Rhys, who owned the local mechanic’s garage. Oftentimes, Gwaine would help Rhys in the shop; he could do simple things like oil changes and putting on new windshield wiper blades. 

            Leon came over and handed Merlin a pint. “Glad you found a seat,” said Leon, looking around his pub.  “Isn’t this fantastic?  I haven’t seen the place _this_ busy in ages.  We’re never as busy as the places on Hill Street.”

            “That’s because you’re hidden.  I bet most of these people have been to Camelot Heights before and knew where to find you.”  Merlin took a sip of his beer and licked away the foamy head off his top lip. “I always come here.”

            “You’re my best paying customer,” laughed Leon.

            “I’m supposed to pay?” Merlin gasped mockingly.

            “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Leon swore, looking past Merlin.

            Merlin turned and watched as Arthur Pendragon walked into the pub.  A fury of whispers flew through the tables, but Merlin turned back and feigned indifference.

            “We’ve seen famous people here before,” said Merlin.

            Leon scoffed.  “Famous?  We’ve seen a handful of football players and stage actors, but _that_ is a _movie star_.”

            Merlin shrugged.  “He’s a person, just like me.”  He took a long sip from his beer.  “Have any smokes?”

            “No smoking in my bar!” snapped Leon.

            “Oh, please, you always allow smoking—”

            “Shut up, Merlin,” said Leon and walked away towards Arthur Pendragon.

            Merlin rolled his eyes.  “Do movie stars impress you?” he asked Gwaine.

            Gwaine turned and looked down the bar.  “It’s nighttime.  Tell him to take off the bloody sunglasses.”

            Merlin grinned.  Thank goodness for Gwaine, who was unimpressed by _everything_.  He took his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Gwen.  _Pendragon is at Leon’s._

            He immediately got a response: _I’m going home.  I CANT FACE HIM_.

            Merlin frowned, but he supposed he understood.  _You could buy him a drink to make up for the one you spilt on him._

            Again the response came quickly.  _He’s a millionaire he doesn’t need me to buy him drinks.  Buy him one for me.  You know you think he’s HOT_.

            Merlin blushed and quickly deleted the text, as though Arthur Pendragon could read the text from all the way across the bar.  A couple of women had already come up to him, but he had shrugged them off.  Merlin glanced back and forth from the football game on the television to Arthur Pendragon.  Perhaps he was just as bad as everyone else, consumed with the celebrity in the room.

            “This may be the worst game I’ve ever seen,” complained Gwaine.  “Look at ‘em! Completely unable to save the bloody ball from the bloody goal.  They need a new goalkeeper.”

            Merlin nodded.  “Definitely.”  He had no idea what the hell he was agreeing to.

            Leon walked over and began to make several cocktails at once in front of them.  “Some table ordered eleven of the fruitiest fucking drinks I’ve ever had the displeasure to make. Bunch of pansies.”  He looked at Merlin.  “No offense.”

            “Mmm,” hummed Merlin noncommittally.  “I don’t know what’s happening in this match,” he said. “I hate football.”

            Gwaine looked at him in disbelief.   “The greatest game on earth?  Blasphemy.”

            Merlin finished his beer and stood.  “I think I’m going to head home.”

            “You’ve been here fifteen minutes!” said Gwaine.

            “I know,” replied Merlin with a shrug, “but I don’t really like football.  Don’t give me that look, do I _really_ look the type to be interested in athletics?  Let’s be serious.”

            “True.”  Gwaine clamped a hand down on Merlin’s shoulder.  “Leon promised to take Monday night off from the pub.  We’re gonna get a card game together.  You in?”

            “No football?  Definitely in.  Where?”

            “My place.  Bring Gwen.”

            “Will do.  See you, mate.”  He nodded at Leon.  “Put that beer on my tab.”

            Leon grinned.  “Sure thing, mate.”

            Merlin was halfway out the pub when he stopped and turned around.  He saw Leon look at him questioningly, but he ignored it and went straight over to Arthur Pendragon.

            “Hey, you forgot one of your bags in my shop.”

            Arthur turned around and looked at Merlin.  His eyes raked him up and down again, as though trying to appraise his worth.  Merlin flushed under the scrutiny.  He had on jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a long-sleeve white shirt underneath a faded blue t-shirt.  In his back pocket was a gray newsboys hat that he hardly ever wore, but never left home without.  Instinctually, Merlin touched the hat as though hoping it would give him good luck.

            “Did I?”

            Merlin nodded.  “Yeah, you did.”

            Arthur sighed.  “This place has a lot of character.  Is it always so busy?”

            “Only on the weekends.”

            “Perhaps I came at the wrong time.  I don’t really enjoy people.  Why don’t you go back to your shop and I’ll finish my pint.  When I’m done, I’ll stop by and get my bag.”

            Merlin didn’t fully understand, but he shrugged and nodded.  “All right. That sounds okay.”

            “Look,” said Arthur, his tone grating, “everyone has a bloody video phone these days and the last thing I need is for someone to video me leaving a pub with another man.  You understand?”

            “Sure,” confirmed Merlin, even though he thought it was ridiculous.  “Whatever you say.  See you later.” 

            He thought he saw Arthur Pendragon roll his eyes before he walked away.

______

            Merlin took his time walking back to his shop. Gwen was just leaving the coffeehouse when he passed.

            “Oh!  Why aren’t you at Leon’s?” she asked.

            Merlin shrugged.  “Gwaine was watching some football game on the telly and you know how I don’t care about sports.  I was bored. You weren’t there and actually, neither were any other friends of ours.”

            “Serves you right for going out on a Saturday night.”

            Merlin nodded.  “I know.  I hear normal people love to go out on Friday and Saturday nights.”

            “Normal people don’t live in tourist towns.  I don’t like it any more than you do. Let’s stick to Mondays through Wednesdays, yeah?  The locals’ weekend.”

            “Monday night is a card game at Gwaine’s.  In?”

            “Sure.  I’m going to go watch a flick with my housemate.  Want to come over?”

            Merlin shook his head.  “No, I think I’m going to try and get some prints together.”

            “All right.  See you tomorrow then?”

            “Right.  ‘Night.” Merlin watched Gwen walk down the sidewalk until she went out of sight.  He looked at his store, smiling to himself.  He would never be rich off it, but it was a lovely store that made enough to stay afloat and give Merlin enough money to live off of.  That’s more than he could have ever asked for.

            He took out his keys and was about to open the shop door when he saw Arthur Pendragon walk from the direction he himself had just come from.

            _I should really stop thinking about him as Arthur Pendragon.  He should be just Arthur, like I am just Merlin_.

            “That was quick,” said Merlin.

            “Too many people, like I said.  Too many people staring.”

            “Oh.  Why would they stare?”  Merlin felt like an unbelievable arse the moment he said it.

            “Are you stupid?” asked Arthur (the “Pendragon” still rang in Merlin’s head).

            “No, I’m not.”

            “They see me in films and on the television, so they stare.  It’s natural.”

            Merlin made a face.  “You’re just a person.  Come on, your bag is upstairs.”  Merlin unlocked the shop door and went inside.  “Lock it behind you,” he called as he made his way  up the staircase.  Once inside his small flat, he picked up the bag and held it out to Arthur.

            Arthur looked at it, but made no move to take it. “Have you ever thought about publishing your photos?  Making a book or something?”

            “I have, but I don’t have a story yet.  If I publish my photographs, there would have to be cohesion.”

            Arthur looked as though he was considering this. “Interesting.” 

            “There was a publisher interested once . . . but that’s a long story.”

Arthur went over to the dining table.  “Do you have a light?”

            Merlin flipped the switch on the wall and the light above the table turned on.

            “All these pictures of your friends – I’m assuming they’re your friends?”

            Merlin nodded.

            “They could be a book.  Look at this girl’s smile.”  Arthur held up a picture of Gwen.  “This is genuine art.”

            “D’you collect art?”

            “Sort of,” replied Arthur, but he didn’t elaborate further.  “Thanks for returning my bag.”  He went to the door and picked up his bag.  He waited for Merlin to follow him.  They walked down the stairs and through the shop.  At the front door, Arthur turned.  “See you around, Merlin.”

            “Likewise,” replied Merlin, thinking it was probably rather unlikely he would ever see Arthur (Pendragon) again.  He attempted a smile.

            “Do you not like me?”

            “What?”

            “You’re just the only person who hasn’t developed a sudden nervous tick when they’re around me.  Most people start stuttering and blushing and acting like complete morons.”

            “Oh.  Well. I.”  Merlin wasn’t sure what to say.  “No, you seem lovely!” he argued.  “I suppose you’re just still a person, aren’t you?  I don’t think I’d be acting any differently if I hadn’t just seen your face on the cover of _Hello!_ as I was walking past the bookshop on the way to the pub.”

            “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”  Arthur leaned forward and kissed Merlin on the mouth.

            At first Merlin froze, hard as granite, but as Arthur’s lips massaged his, he relaxed and allowed his lips to slack and accept the way Arthur’s tongue curled around his.  They kissed like that for several moments until Arthur pulled back.

            “Thanks, Merlin.  Best not tell anyone about that either, yeah?”

            “Yeah,” whispered Merlin.  “Sure.  Whatever you say.”

            Arthur smiled a little half-hearted smile and walked away down the street.

______

            Of course Merlin didn’t tell anyone about the kiss.  No one would have believed him if he had.  He went through the motions the next day in a bit of a daze.  Sunday mornings were almost as busy as Saturdays and Freya helped sift through the customers.  She stayed until two and then went home.  Merlin finished up quickly and closed shop.  He made some dinner, put it into takeaway containers, and walked four streets over to the house Gwen shared with a girl they knew from grammar school.  It was always like this, going over to Gwen’s house to watch movies or catch up on episodes of _Doctor Who_ , because Merlin didn’t have a television.

            “And I don’t want one.”

            “But you miss _everything_ , including that charming American comedy.  Oh, what’s it called, Gwennie?”

            Gwen rolled her eyes at Anastasia, for she hated the nickname “Gwennie,” and shook her head.  “There is nothing charming about any American television shows.  I can’t wait for the new season of _Skins_ , can you?”

            Merlin didn’t really have an opinion about _Skins_ ; he watched whatever Gwen wanted to watch, it didn’t much matter to him.  He simply liked spending time with his best friend.

            “Well, I’m off to Leon’s.  I’m meeting a new bloke there, some guy I rather took a fancy to from the city.”

            “City boys come and go,” warned Merlin, “and you’ll just get your heart broken again.”

            Anastasia just smiled as she left the house.

            Merlin sat on Gwen’s sofa, a bottle of beer in his right hand and a plate piled with the dinner he’d made in the other.  “I know how that’s going to go,” he said. “She’s going to come knock on my door, demanding to know why this bloke hasn’t rung her back, and when I ask why _I_ should know, she’ll say because I’m a boy who likes boys, as though that means I’m a clairvoyant when it comes to _her_ messy love-life.”

            “You’re so dramatic.”

            “You know it’s the absolute truth.”

            Gwen smiled as she sat beside Merlin on the sofa. “ _Doctor Who_ or the new Harry Potter?  I just bought it.”

            “Silly question,” replied Merlin.

            Gwen laughed and got back up to put the new Harry Potter film into her DVD player.

______

            Mondays were always so slow that Merlin didn’t open the shop until noon.  It was his day to sleep in and be as leisurely as possible.  He woke feeling groggy and he smacked his lips together, trying to get the taste of morning out of his mouth.  After he brushed his teeth and made his own tea, he sat at his computer to check his email.  It was the only time all week he ever got online, not really caring about life outside of Camelot Heights except for what his mother and uncle had to say.  His mother lived in Ealdor, where Merlin and Gwen had grown up only a couple hours’ drive away.  His mother’s brother, Gaius, had lived in Camelot Heights and worked as a physician there for many years.  Merlin could remember being a small child and visiting his uncle during the summer holidays and at Christmas and he fell in love with the charming town. It was the shops and the artwork and the way the main road closed down on the weekends for merchants with their carts to sell their goods.  It was the greengrocers and their apples or pumpkins, the coffeehouse that made four different types of cocoa, and the shop that sold nothing but breads.  Everything about the town was perfect and Merlin grew up wanting to go back.

            The first email was from his mother, the second from his uncle, and the third from a woman in London who wanted to publish his photographs.  He replied to the first two, but ignored the third, as he did every week.

            He finally showered and dressed in a t-shirt, jumper, and jeans that were too long.  He laced his trainers and then looked in the mirror.  His hair was messy and stuck out behind his large ears.  He studied his face and narrowed his eyes at himself, wondering how the hell he got so skinny.             

            Going downstairs, he heard someone in his shop. He looked around and saw Freya at the walls, straightening photographs and reorganizing the ones on the shelves.

            “Hey,” said Merlin, “what’re you doing here?”

            “I skipped class today,” she replied with a sigh. “There was an exam, but I hadn’t studied for it.  I knew I was going to fail.  I wanted to see if you needed any help this morning instead.”

            “Sure, okay.  Actually, yeah, that’d be great.  I can go take photos of that old church they’re tearing down today.” Merlin turned to go back upstairs to grab his camera and bag, but then he stopped and looked at Freya.  “You know you shouldn’t skive off your classes, yeah?  Education is important.”

            “Thanks, _Dad_.”

            Merlin chortled.  “Point taken.”  He ran and got his things, happy to have the chance to take more photographs.

______

            He came back to the shop five hours later, his jumper wrapped around his waist, slightly sweaty and very hungry.  He set his camera and bag behind the register.  “Any messages?” he asked, looking through the receipts from the day.  It looked as though Freya had actually made six sales, which was rather significant for a Monday.

            “Your mum called.  Something about her back?”

            “She’s got a bad back, yeah.  Anyone else?”

            “Er, yeah, that guy who always comes in here asking if we’ve got lewd photo—”

            “Gwaine,” supplied Merlin.

            “Yes.  He was rather upset that you weren’t answering your mobile and asked if you would bring a bottle tonight to the game.  Is he always that upset?”

            “That’s just the way he talks.  I wouldn’t worry about it.”  Merlin clicked through different reports on his computer, automatically generated by some wonderful business software Gwen had bought for him. He was sifting through his profits and trends in sales.  “Thanks, Freya.  I appreciate it.”

            “No problem.  Want me to close up?”

            “No, that’s all right.  I can do it.  Thanks for working today, though.”

            Freya took her purse from behind the counter and slung her jacket over her shoulder.  “Oh!” she cried halfway to the door.  She turned. “You had another message, too.”

            Merlin looked at her from over top the computer screen.  “Yeah . . . ?”

            “I can’t remember what he said his name was, but he said something about wanting to see you before he leaves.”

            Merlin dropped the computer mouse.  “Before he left?”

            “Yeah.  Shit, I can’t remember what his name was.”

            “Er, Arthur?” asked Merlin.

            “Yes!” cried Freya, snapping her fingers. “That’s it!”

            “Did he leave a number?”

            “Yeah, but I couldn’t find a pen so I tried to memorize it, only I’ve forgotten.”

            “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

            Freya’s eyes widened.  “I’m so sorry, Merlin!”

            Merlin shook his head.  “Oh my god,” he said, the blood boiling in his veins, his face so hot it burned.  “Unbelievable.”

            “ _I’m sorry_.  Er, I think he’s staying at Camelot Inn.”

            “Of course he is,” said Merlin.  He knew that; he could go to the Inn and see if Arthur was there.  “And you’re sure he said his name was Arthur?”

            “Yeah.  Hey, you don’t think it’s the movie star—”

            “Oh, no,” Merlin said quickly, “no, no.  I have, er, a cousin named Arthur.”

            Freya looked as though she wasn’t quite buying it, but just shrugged.  “Well, I hope you can find him before he leaves.”

            “Thanks.” 

            Once Freya left, Merlin looked around for the phone. He accidentally knocked over one of his shelves as he tried to search for the phone.

            “Damn it!” he cried.  “Crap!  Where’s the – where’s the _fucking_ phone?”

            Finally he found it sitting on the window sill near the door.  He looked up the number to the hotel in the phonebook and dialed it. 

            “Yes, hello, can you connect me to Arthur Pendragon’s room, please?”

            The receptionist on the other line paused. “I’m afraid we cannot connect any calls to that room, per our guest’s request.”

            “Um.  Well.” Merlin wasn’t sure what to say. “Can I leave a message?”

            The receptionist sighed.  “You’re the thirteenth one since my shift began . . . twenty minutes ago.”

            “Oh, sorry.  Well.  Er, my name is Merlin—”

            “Did you say Merlin?  Fantastic.  You’re on the list.”

            “What list?”

            “Hold, please.”

            Merlin was placed on hold.  Why was he calling this guy back?  It wasn’t as though it could _be_ anything and Merlin had abandoned random flings a long time ago. He didn’t even find Arthur Pendragon all that charming.  In fact, he was a bit of a prat. 

            _A prat that kissed him_.

            _For no reason_.

            Merlin rolled his eyes at himself.  Perhaps he was just as bad as everyone else, caught up in the whirlpool of fame. 

            “Hello?”

            Oh, he recognized that voice.  Slightly rough, as though he had been asleep.

            “Hi, it’s, er, Merlin.”

            There was a long pause and for a scary moment, Merlin thought they had connected him to the wrong room or that there had been a mistake and Arthur really _hadn’t_ wanted to talk to him after all.  “I didn’t think you were going to call me back.”

            “My assistant didn’t tell me you had called and then she didn’t write down the number that goes directly to your room, so I had to talk to the receptionist.”

            “I asked the front desk to only allow calls from you to come through – and my sister, of course, but loads of locals have been calling the front desk, driving them mad, bless them.  I wanted to see if you wanted to get together.”

            Oh!  Merlin grinned, then remembered he was on the phone and Arthur couldn’t see his reaction. “When?”

            Merlin could almost see Arthur shrugged through the phone.  “Tonight.”

            “Yes!” said Merlin and winced at how enthusiastic he sounded.

            “I’ll come ‘round to yours if—”

            “No!”

            “No?”

            “Not no!  Shit!  Sorry!” Merlin hit his forehead with the palm of his hand.  “I forgot I told my mates I’d hang out with them.  We’re playing poker or some such.”

            “That’s okay.”

            “I’m _really_ sorry.  But maybe I can get out of it.  That would make me the world’s biggest arse, though, wouldn’t it?”

            “I meant, it’s okay, I’ll come along.  I’m really good at poker.”

            Merlin paused, his mouth gaping open.  “You want to come to my mate’s poker game with me?”

            “Why not?  I’m vacationing here for the next few days.  Might as well have some fun.  There’s nothing else to do now that I’ve seen all the shops.”

            “Ouch, that wounds me,” joked Merlin.  “This village is phenomenal.  You apparently haven’t seen the best sights.  They’re a bit like Leon’s, hidden from most tourists, but if you know where to go, the possibilities are limitless.  I never get bored here.”

            “I find that hard to believe,” replied Arthur and Merlin thought his tone sounded slightly bored.  “You’ll have to show me, then.”

            “Er,” said Merlin, “all right.”

            “What time is this game of yours?”

            “Eight o’clock.  But you have to bring alcohol, that’s the buy-in.  We don’t play for real money.  Usually chores or meals.  Why don’t you meet me at my shop at half-seven and we’ll walk over?  That is, if you think we can walk to a poker game without being photographed?”  He was being partly serious, but mostly sarcastic.

            “The streets are rather barren, aren’t they?” asked Arthur, apparently taking him very seriously.

            “Completely.  It’s Monday night, nothing ever happens on Monday.”

            “Brilliant,” said Arthur.  “Wait, is your friend going to be there?  The one who spilled coffee all over me?”

            “Yes,” said Merlin slowly.

            “Make sure she sits on the other side of the table, all right?”

            Merlin couldn’t tell from Arthur’s tone if it was a joke or not.

            “Laugh,” instructed Arthur.

            “Oh, sorry.”

            “I’m hanging up now.”  And he did.

______

            At exactly thirty-five minutes after seven, the bell to the shop door rang.  Merlin looked at himself in the mirror, realizing that he hadn’t done anything to keep his hair from sticking messily out, and just walked away to the door, resolving himself not to care about how he looked.  He didn’t want to appear as though he was trying too hard, and he didn’t own any nice clothes anyway, so he just put on a faded polo shirt and jeans; in his back pocket was the cap he always had.  Underneath his polo shirt, he had on a long-sleeve white t-shirt, because it was still very cold on spring nights.  The sleeves were long and fell below his wrists, but Merlin didn’t care.

            Even though all the window coverings were pulled, Merlin was certain it was Arthur so he didn’t bother to check through the slit in the blinds like he normally did when someone rang after closing hours. He opened the front door and gazed at Arthur Pendragon.  The man looked exactly like the pictures in the magazines.  His hair was stylishly gel, somewhere between spiked and messy, his red button-down shirt fitted, showing off the muscles of his arms.  The front of his shirt was tucked into his dark jeans that fell to the tops of some trainers that Merlin were sure cost more than all his photographs put together.  Merlin wasn’t even convinced that Arthur was trying to look nice; he was sure this was how Arthur looked _every_ day.  He couldn’t help but stare at Arthur’s arms and shoulders for a moment longer; they weren’t large by any means, but still firm and defined.

            “Uh, Merlin?”

            “Sorry!” cried Merlin.  “Sorry.”

            Arthur smirked.  “It’s fine.”

            “You still want to go to the poker game?” asked Merlin.

            “Why wouldn’t I?”

            “I don’t know.  I would think you might find it boring or something.”

            “Why?  I like cards.”

            “It’s just not . . . you know . . . glamorous.”

            Arthur took in a deep breath.  “I’m here on a self-induced holiday because the big city has finally bored me to tears.  You were the only one who didn’t fall all over me like I was the Prince of Wales, you were very, very _normal_ about meeting me, like I was an accountant and not an actor.  So I’m hoping your mates will be the same and I can enjoy a night where I don’t have to be Arthur Pendragon and I can just be Arthur.”

            Merlin blinked.  “But you _are_ just Arthur.”

            Arthur looked slightly speechless.

            “The whole ‘fame’ thing is bollocks, isn’t it? It’s not real.  I mean, you’re not really much different than me, yeah? Underneath it all?”

            This time, Arthur _was_ speechless.

            “Like I said yesterday, you’re just a boy. Well, not boy, a man.  A rather short man.  I had no idea you were so short.”

            Arthur laughed and for once, it sounded genuine. “Wow, good one, _Mer_ lin.  Let’s go, shall we?”

            Merlin walked across the street, towards Hanger Road where Gwaine lived with his older brother.  Houses surrounded Hill Street, which was where most of the businesses were. Some were scattered on side streets, but once Hill Street was passed, there was nothing but houses.  The houses were expensive and most were unoccupied during the week, used as weekend or summer homes.  Most of the residents of Camelot Heights lived near Hanger Road, where the houses were smaller and further apart, closer to the public school and to the sea.

            “It’s rather charming, isn’t it?” mutter Arthur, his eyes taking in all the houses.  “Do you really walk everywhere?”

            “I don’t have a car,” replied Merlin.  It took fifteen minutes, but they stopped in front of a small house, vines growing up the sides, and one window boarded up. Merlin grinned.  “This is where Gwaine and his brother live.  They don’t care too much about their house, but you should see their shop, it’s amazing.”

            “What shop?”

            “Oh, they’re the local mechanics.  They own a mechanic’s shop and the only gas station in town.  Actually, no,” correct Merlin, “Rhys owns the mechanic’s shop and Gwaine helps him sometimes, but Gwaine was left a toy shop when his grandparents died.  He’s really good with his hands and he makes loads of carved toys out of wood.  He’ll tell you he hates it, but it’s not true, he loves it.”

            “Are all your friends business owners?”

            Merlin nodded.  “Yes.  That’s a bit how we met.  Gwen and I met in grammar school, but the rest we met here.  Every so often there are town meetings for business owners and we began to be mates with the others who were under thirty.”

            “Not under thirty before long,” a voice said behind Merlin.  It was Leon and he slung an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.  “You’re the youngest one, aren’t you?  But after next week, I will have officially left my twenties behind.”

            “Depressing,” said Merlin.  “Er, this is Arthur.”

            Leon looked around Merlin and stared at Arthur for a moment before extending his hand.  “Pleasure.  I’m Leon. I own Leon’s.”

            “I was there last night.  Nice place.”

            Leon nodded.  “Thanks.”

            “Busy.”

            “Yeah, I make pretty good off it,” replied Leon with a chuckle.

            “Er, shall we?” asked Arthur.

            Merlin walked up the front steps and knocked on Gwaine’s door.  In his ear Leon whispered, “ _What the hell are you doing here with Arthur Pendragon?_ ”

            Gwaine opened his front door before Merlin could answer.  “Welcome!” He ushered everyone inside and completely ignored Arthur.

            Gwaine had set his card table up in his living room and beer was waiting for them on the tabletop.  Gwen was already seated, along with Rhys, Gwaine’s older brother, and Elaina, a girl who ran the greengrocer with her best friend.

            Elaina smiled and stood, going to Merlin and hugging him.

            “All right?” she asked.

            Merlin nodded.  “Yes.  Thank you. How are you doing?”

            “Getting through every day.  It gets easier and easier.”

            “I understand.”

            Elaina hugged him again and kissed his cheek.

            Merlin ignored the look Gwen was shooting him, her eyes wide and full of questions about Arthur, and sat down at the table. He passed Gwaine the alcohol he brought, who went and put it in his kitchen.  Merlin awkwardly made introductions and everyone murmured hellos before Gwaine came back and began to deal out the cards.  They played with fake money, sometimes placing bets like working at Gwen’s for a week without pay, or washing all of Leon’s dishes after a Saturday rush, just to make the game interesting.  When Gwaine’s brother got up to take a phone call an hour and a half into the game, everyone took a break from cards.

            “I really have the worst job ever,” complained Elaina.

            “You do not,” replied Gwen.  “You’ve a lovely job.  Why don’t you like it?”

            “All these people always want strawberries, even when they’re not in season, and get so testy when we tell them that we only buy things _in season_.  And then sometimes the fruits or veggies go bad and the smell is absolutely foul and I’ve grown tired of dealing with strangers.”

            “You just had a bad day,” said Gwen, patting Elaina’s hand.  “Did you wake up early?”

            “Yes, I wake up early every morning so Lisa can drive me to the market.  We have to get there at five o’clock.”

 

            “Try working in a mechanic’s shop,” said Gwaine. “I can never get the grease out from under my fingernails, which really isn’t a problem unless I’m trying to pull a nice girl, which never happens because none of the nice girls want to be pulled.”

            “You’re exaggerating,” said Merlin.

            Gwaine shrugged.  “Perhaps a little, but they always find me so dirty, which I am. Covered in grease an oil.  Which I do actually enjoy, but it’s the damn tourists. They come in their cars and when they break down, if I don’t have the parts, they get mean as though I’m purposefully sabotaging their holiday.  I don’t carry every part to every American or Japanese car ever made.  That’s mad.  But what’s worse is the _kids_ from the toy shop.  They drive me mad, they’re so ungrateful. What’s complete shit is that people either think I _love_ kids because I own a stupid toy store or that I’m a _weirdo_ because I own a stupid toy store.  I cannot win.”

            “Well, customers are just as bad at my place,” said Gwen.  “Always ordering these fancy drinks that aren’t on the menu.  I blame Starbucks, personally, for allowing people to be so bloody needy and self-entitled.  I don’t do all the fancy stuff.  I’m a coffeehouse.  With coffee and tea and lattes.  I don’t know how to even make all the rest of that stuff and I don’t have walnut syrup. And it’s like . . . all these people get annoyed because I don’t have what they want, but we wear black aprons, not green ones.  You know?”

            Merlin laughed.  “You sound so dramatic, Gwen.  You love your little coffeehouse.”

            “I know I do, but.”  She shrugged.  “Sometimes.”

            “At least you don’t have drunk university girls come into your coffeehouse on Saturday nights and throw up on your shoes,” said Leon.  “Which is probably the only thing I don’t like about owning my own pub.  You lot always get pissed in my place, but you’re not complete gits about it.  It’s the stupid ones, the ones who throw up or start fights that really get to me. Alcohol shouldn’t be an excuse to be a moron.”

            Merlin smiled.  He had seen his fair share of people throw up in the middle of Leon’s.

            “What about my business?” asked Merlin.

            “ _Yours_?” scoffed Gwen good naturedly.  “You love your shop.”

            “I do, but people only want postcards and I don’t really even _have_ postcards.  They don’t understand good photography and I don’t think they care to.  They want photos of the beach or the outside of Camelot Inn, but they don’t want anything of substance.  They’re all shallow.  Or they ask me to take photographs of their dogs, which is really just crossing the line. I don’t do dogs in prams.”

            Everyone at the table laughed, including Arthur.

            “Yes, dogs in prams, you win,” laughed Gwen. “Cheers.”

            “Wait,” said Arthur, “what about my job?”

            Everyone was quiet for a moment before beginning to laugh again.

            “You?” asked Leon, disbelieving.

            “No way,” said Elaina.  “Your job is perfect.”

            “You’ll have to elaborate,” said Merlin.

            Arthur drank from his beer bottle.  “All right.  I usually have to wake up at three in the morning to make it to location by four-thirty.  I sit in makeup and all anyone every talks about is me, which is really exhausting because even I don’t love myself enough to talk about myself for two hours.  I have to go to the gym three hours a day to look like this or else my trainer gives me hell.  My nutritionist gives me prepared meals so I don’t gain any more body fat.  Every week I am either married, dating, or have gotten some unsuspecting girl pregnant, none of which is ever true.  I have to be careful who I walk down the street with because someone, somewhere will take a photo with their camera phone.  And I never know if I actually have any true friends because girls want to just sleep with me and blokes just want an excuse to sleep with the girls I’ve passed on.  It’s the most lonely existence I’ve ever known.”

            There was silence around the table.

            “Nice try, but you’re so full of shit,” laughed Gwaine.  He raised his beer bottle.  “Cheers, mate, you’re a good actor after all.”

            Arthur seemed to be amused and a small smile curled the corners of his mouth.  He caught Merlin’s eye and winked.

______

            When they left Gwaine’s house, Merlin felt a little buzzed, but was still completely coherent – or as coherent as he ever normally was.  They walked slowly down the streets.

            “Did, er, you have fun?” asked Merlin.

            “Your mates seem amusing.  It was nice not having to think about who I am.”

            “What d’you mean?”

            Arthur shrugged.  “No one asking me about my next film or whether I ever think about stage acting or if how I feel about endorsing Converse sneakers.”

            “Wait, you endorse Converse?”

            Arthur smirked.  “No.”

            They came to the end of Hanger Road and Merlin went to turn left, but Arthur stopped him.  “What’s behind that gate?”

            The road made a ninety-degree turn, but on the other side of the road was a large wrought-iron gate with rows and of bushes in front of it.  The bushes were usually trimmed neatly and the land inside perfectly landscaped.

            “That’s Camelot Cemetery.  The oldest graves in there are said to be over four-hundred years old.  Some the headstones are so old they’re smoothed over, but some are still rather new. Only residents are in there, so it isn’t too large.  Camelot may look large, but it’s mostly vacant houses used for holidays.”

            “I see.”

            “It’s spring so it’s not too busy, but the entire summer will be maddening with all the tourists and then once autumn hits, they’ll all go home and we’ll be here, alone again.”

            “Where’s the gate?”

            “Oh.  Er.  On the other side, off North Abbey.  I think we can climb over, though, if you really fancy a look inside.”

            “After you,” said Arthur, gesturing for Merlin to go towards the fence.

            Merlin knew there was an old tree stump just down the way.  He found it, partially hidden between two bushes, barely illuminated by the street lamps. He motioned for Arthur to follow him. Merlin stood on the stump, reached for the top of the fence and jumped, his foot catching the top railing.  He used the strength in his arms and leg to pull himself up and over.  He landed on the other side with a soft “ _Oof!_ ” Turning, he watched Arthur do the same, only smoother, with more grace.

            “Can you even see?” asked Merlin.

            “A little, from the lamps.  I have the flashlight app on my phone.”

            “You have a what on your phone?”

            Arthur grinned.  “It’s like a torch, but on my phone.  It’s called a flashlight app?”

            “Oh.  I don’t think my phone has a light.”

            Arthur laughed.  “Never mind.”  He walked up to one of the stones and kneeled down.  He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped it a few times.  A bright white light shone from Arthur’s phone, illuminating the headstone.  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?  That these people lived a hundred years ago?”

            Merlin studied him, the way Arthur knelt in front of the grave, the way he was so reverent, so respectful.  It was all still surreal, being here with Arthur Pendragon, but Merlin was beginning to forget that Arthur was a celebrity in the first place.  He followed Arthur through the cemetery, looking at headstone after headstone. 

            “How do you not have a flash on your phone?” asked Arthur suddenly, turning around from where he knelt.

            “Er.”  Merlin shrugged.  “I don’t really do much with technology.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “I’ve had my mobile for about three years and it doesn’t have a camera or anything.  I just use it to makes calls and texts.  I don’t own a television either.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “Yes.”

            “Do you own a computer?”

            “I have one in my shop downstairs that is connected to the register – I don’t know how it works, Gwen set it all up for me. I can use the programs, but only after Gwen tied me to a chair and forced me to learn.  I have a really old computer in my flat, but I only use it to check my emails, which I do Monday mornings.”

            “Monday mornings?” exclaimed Arthur, the disbelief evident in his voice.  “So if I emailed your right now you wouldn’t even read it for another week?”

            “What can I say?  All my mates are here.  I don’t need the computer.  Sometimes I order supplies for my dark room or I look for new camera equipment.”

            “On Monday morning.”

            “Yes.”

            Arthur stood and walked a little down the dirt pathway.  He sat on one of the benches that were stationed around the cemetery.  Merlin walked slowly towards him, but didn’t sit down.

            “Have you seen any of my movies?” asked Arthur.

            “One or two, I suppose.  I saw the one where you were a fugitive in America.”

            “That’s fascinating.”

            “The flick wasn’t _that_ fascinating—”

            “No,” laughed Arthur, “it’s fascinating how you don’t know who I am.”

            “I know who you are.  I see your photograph all the time on magazine covers, but I don’t think I’ve read any of the articles.”

            “Please tell me you’re not joking.”

            “Why would I lie?”

            “Will you sit next to me?”

            Merlin nodded and sat down on the bench next to Arthur.  He felt nervous, completely unsure what to expect with Arthur.  He was truly handsome, more handsome than any man Merlin had ever been with before.  Yet he had been very charming during the card game, not like the prat he seemed to be during their first meeting.

            “I know I’m arrogant sometimes, but I think I have a right to be.”

            “Why?”

            Arthur shrugged.  “I’m good-looking.  I’m a good actor, even if not all my roles show that.  I have a lot going for me.  I’ve gotten into producing some films and I really would like to direct. I think I’ve just about outgrown my time in front of the camera.”

            “Even if you’re good-looking, that doesn’t make you a god.  I think the way you looked at me when you were in my shop kinda made me feel like you thought I was beneath you.”

            “Really?”  Arthur looked surprised.

            “Of course.  You’re just a person; that’s what’s so bloody irritating about you. You’re not immortal,  you’re not above the laugh; if you’re tickled you laugh, if you’re choked you die – just like everybody else.  What makes you so different?  Why are people so fascinated by you?  It’s unbelievable.”

            “Is anyone fascinated by you?”

            “I doubt it.”

            “I think you’re fascinating.”

            Merlin snorted.  “Yeah, sure.”

            “You own your own business and you make your own art.  Photography is an art.  I love photography, to tell you the truth.  I can take a picture of my trainers and it just looks like a picture of a pair of sneakers, but you could make the same trainers look like art with the angles or the light and shadow.  But you don’t have a television and you don’t surf the internet.  It’s just – I’ve never met anyone like you.”

            “You just fancy me because I don’t care who the hell you are.”  As soon as he said it, Merlin’s heart raced and his body felt hot.  He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, but he couldn’t retract the words once spoken.

            They were silent for several minutes until Arthur asked, “Did you see that stone?”  He pointed to the grave directly in front of them.  “It said they were married for sixty years.  They died only a week apart.”

            “Perhaps they couldn’t survive without each other. I’ve heard broken hearts can kill.”

            “Have you ever had one?”

            “Yes,” said Merlin, “I have.”

            “Was it the man in your photographs?”

            “Yes.”

            “What was his name?”

            “Will,” answered Merlin, looking at his hands in his lap.  “Maybe one day I’ll tell you the story, but not now.  No one knows the full story, not even Gwen.”

            Arthur nodded.  “When did you come out?”

            Merlin was caught off guard by the question.  He cleared his throat, thinking.  “When I was sixteen.  When did you come out?” he asked Arthur, knowing full well there was no way Arthur Pendragon had told _anyone_ he sometimes kissed blokes in the middle of photography shops.

            “ _Me_?” Arthur shook his head.  “No, definitely not me.”  For a moment, Merlin thought Arthur looked a little sad.  “How old are you?”

            “Twenty-seven.  You?”

            “Twenty-eight.  Have you always lived in Camelot?”

            “Camelot Heights,” corrected Merlin.  “No, Gwen and I grew up together in Ealdor.  My uncle used to be the town physician and I just sort of fell in love with the town whenever I came to visit him.  I moved here first, but Gwen followed soon afterwards.  We shared an attic flat for a while before we were both able to start our own businesses.”

            “Would you ever leave?”

            “Leave Camelot Heights?  Are you kidding?  The tourists make me mad sometimes, but their business is what keeps me going.  The sea, the salty air . . . watching the waves against the rocks . . . the history . . . my friends . . . I never want to live anywhere else.”

            A smile tugged on Arthur’s lips.  “Do you sound like that when you talk about photography, too?  All passionate?”

            “I’m passionate about loads of things,” replied Merlin.  “I suppose this town is one of them.”

            “What else?”

            “Why all the questions about me?” asked Merlin.

            “I’ve spent the last ten years talking about myself. I don’t find myself interesting any longer.”

            “I might.  I don’t know anything about you.”

            “I know.  That’s what I like about you.”

            “I hope that’s not all you fancy,” said Merlin softly, looking away.

            Arthur reached for Merlin, one hand cupping his cheek, turning him.  Arthur leaned in, tilted his head, and pressed his lips lightly against Merlin’s.  This second kiss was tentative, sweet, soft. Arthur ran his tongue along Merlin’s bottom lip; Merlin opened his mouth and deepened the kiss.  Their tongues brushed against each other and Arthur’s fingers tangled in Merlin’s hair.  Arthur moaned; Merlin swallowed the sound.

            Merlin put his hands on Arthur’s hips, his fingers tugging on the hem of Arthur’s red t-shirt.  He lifted the shirt, put his hands on Arthur’s back, lightly scratching at the skin there, feeling how warm and smooth Arthur was under his palms.

            “Hey,” Arthur whispered against Merlin’s lips. 

            Merlin pulled away.  The skin around Arthur’s lips was pinked from the scruff of Merlin’s cheeks.  Next time he should shave before snogging a famous actor.

            “Let’s walk back to your flat, yeah?”

            Merlin nodded.  “All right.”  He stood and held his hand out for Arthur to take.

            Arthur took it, standing.  He was only an inch or two shorter than Merlin, but he still had to tilt his head slightly up in order to kiss Merlin on the mouth.  He kissed him again, pressing their bodies together.

            As suddenly as he started it, Arthur pulled away. There was a quiet ringing somewhere. Merlin watched as Arthur reached into his back pocket and pulled out his mobile.  The expression on Arthur’s face changed quickly.  Merlin took a few steps back, not wanting to eavesdrop.  Arthur ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket.

            “I’ve got to go,” he said slowly.  “My agent is waiting for me at my hotel.  Apparently some of my last film was leaked on the internet . . . well, it doesn’t really matter, but now I’m leaving tomorrow for London instead of staying for a few more days.”

            “Oh,” said Merlin.

            “Thanks for tonight.”

            Merlin nodded.  “Any time.  I’ll take you back to Hill Street.  You can find your hotel from there, yeah?”

            “Thank you.”

            The walk back to Hill Street was silent, but Arthur kept brushing against Merlin, their arms touching.  When they reached the front of Merlin’s shop, they stopped.

            “I’d kiss you again, but there’s people about,” said Arthur, his voice barely a whisper.

            “I understand,” said Merlin, which was the truth.

            “Best not—”

            “Best not tell anyone about this,” finished Merlin. “I know.  They wouldn’t believe me anyway.”  He smiled.  “See you, er, later?”

            “I don’t know.  I have to go to Los Angeles to start filming in a few days.  It’s supposed to take the next couple of months. I doubt I’ll get back to England before then.  Perhaps I’ll come back one day, if just to see what new photographs you’ve got up in your shop.”

            Merlin’s smile widened.  “That’d be great.”

            “Good night.”

            Merlin watched Arthur walk away down Hill Street towards Camelot Inn.  He didn’t really believe Arthur would come back.  In fact, he figured since Arthur was a celebrity, he probably had flings like this in every village he visited.  Next week, Arthur would probably forget all about that photographer with the big ears from Camelot Heights and while Merlin would look back on their interlude fondly, Arthur would forget it ever happened entirely.  But Merlin was all right with that.  After all, Arthur was famous, his life glamorous.  A place like Camelot Heights could never compete with Hollywood.

______

            The next few months grew increasingly busier as summer came and went.  Merlin had never had such a successful season.  He sold more photographs and was even hired to photograph two weddings after the brides had come into his shop and seen his pictures.  He had never been to a wedding before, but he made more money off the events than he thought possible.  During the summers Freya worked Wednesdays through Sundays and sometimes the occasional Tuesday if it was busy enough.  Merlin was grateful for the cooler weather, allowing him time to focus on taking photographs instead of simply being at his shop to sell them.

            In August, Gwen found herself without a house mate as Anastasia moved off to London to live with her parents again, having grown tired of all the “unavailable” men in town.  Leon cut back on his staff at the pub, knowing that he didn’t need more than one a night once autumn hit and even then, he usually could run the entire pub himself during the winter months.  Gwaine’s brother ran the garage alone; he could do all the jobs himself and didn’t need help with simpler things like oil changes when no one was driving in and out of town.  This left Gwaine time to focus on wood making, which was his passion, even if he would never admit it.

            October rolled around and everything turned cold, much colder than most Octobers.  Merlin found himself rummaging through his closets, trying to find which box he’d stashed his winter coat in.  It was in a box full of thick jumpers and corduroy trousers.  Even though it was a Saturday, Merlin was going to leave the shop in the care of Freya, knowing she’d be able to handle it.  October was always a slow month, especially around Halloween. 

            Merlin walked down the stairs from his flat.  He said goodbye to Freya just as the phone rang. She answered it and waved goodbye. Merlin had his hand on the door when Freya stopped him.

            “M!” she called.

            Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he hated when Freya called him by a made-up nickname, but she was only sixteen so he never had the heart to tell her.

            “I’m not here, whoever it is.”

            “I’m sorry, he’s just stepped – oh, all right, one mo’.”  She put her hand over the receiver.  “Um. The bloke on the other end of the phone said he knows you haven’t left.”

            “He doesn’t know that.”

            “He said—”

            “Oh, forget it,” Merlin grumbled, but walked over to the counter and took the phone from Freya.  “Hello?”

            “Hello, Merlin.”

            Merlin’s eyes widened.  “Oh my god.”

            “It’s Arthur.”

            “Yeah, I know. . . .  You remember me?”

            Arthur’s laughter was loud in Merlin’s ear, but it made him smile. 

            “I’m actually in Eastminster.  There’s a press junket for my new film, but it’ll be over tomorrow.  I thought since it’s so close, perhaps you might stop by for a drink?  Catch up?”

            “Eastminster?  Which hotel?”

            “The Northern Mansion.  I believe it’s supposed to be some sort of bed and breakfast for businesspeople.  I don’t pick the hotels, my assistant does.”

            “I think I can borrow a car from Gwaine. It’s only about an hour’s drive away.”

            “Brilliant,” said Arthur.  “Hold on.” 

            Merlin could hear voices in the background, Arthur speaking to someone with a high voice and a shrill laugh.

            “Sorry, my sister just barged into my room. She’s a complete harpy.  Why don’t you come by around four?”

            “Sure, all right.”

            “Can you get away from your shop?”

            “Yeah, no problem.”

            “Brilliant,” repeated Arthur.  “Do you want – shit, Morgana, _what do you want_?”

            Merlin raised his eyebrows, but kept his mouth shut, knowing Arthur wasn’t speaking to him.  He could still hear the voices, this time much closer to the telephone.

            “What d’you mean Father is here?  Why the hell did he want to go to the junket?  He’s supposed to be in London with the editors for his new – yeah, yeah – hey, are you there?  Hello?”

            “Oh, sorry,” said Merlin, not realizing Arthur was talking to him.  “I’m here.”

            “I can’t talk about this with my sister looming over me—”

            “ _I don’t loom_ ,” said a voice in the background.  Merlin grinned.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow.  Where shall I meet you?”

            “Royal Suite.”

            “The Royal Suite, got it.”

            “Great, thanks, ‘bye.”

            Merlin didn’t have a chance to say goodbye before the phone clicked off.  He removed the phone from his ear and looked down at the receiver.  He shook his head in disbelief before handing the phone back to Freya.  

            “All right?” she asked.

            Merlin nodded.  “Perfect.  Er, want to work tomorrow?”

______

            “All right, I need you to tell me what you know about Arthur Pendragon.”

            Gwen raised her eyebrows.  “Hello to you, too.”

            Merlin sighed.  He pulled Gwen to the back room of her coffeehouse, away from the two customers sitting inside her shop.  He kept his voice low.

            “I’m going to tell you a secret because you’re my very best mate, but you mustn’t tell anyone.”

            “I won’t.”

            “I trust you.  I came out to you before anyone else and you kept that a secret.”

            Gwen nodded.  “Yes, I know.”

            “And you never told anyone about Will and the, well . . . you know.”

            Gwen nodded again.  “We don’t have to go through the list of things I’ve done to make me trustworthy.”

            “When Arthur Pendragon was in town, he snogged me in the cemetery after the poker game.”

            “You can’t be serious!”

            “I am,” said Merlin.  “And he’s just rang me at my shop to ask if I’d come to Eastminster to see him tomorrow.”

            “You’re going, aren’t you?”

            “Of course I’m going.  He’s beautiful, have you _seen_ him?  But he said something about his father and his sister was visiting him, but I don’t know anything about any of them.  I should totally get a television, shouldn’t I?”

            “I don’t know much,” said Gwen.  “Only a little.”

            “Tell me.”

            “His father is Uther Pendragon.”

            Merlin shrugged.  “Okay.”

            “Oh, god, you don’t know who Uther Pendragon is?”

            “Shit, should I?  I am so lame.”

            Gwen giggled.  “No, it’s quite all right.  Uther is a director and a producer.  He’s won an Oscar and one or two BAFTA awards.  Almost every film he makes is nominated.  He’s the biggest director of the times.”  Gwen began to list some of the movies Uther Pendragon had made.

            “Oh _shit_. I’ve seen some of those pictures. He’s a legend, isn’t he?”

            “A bit.”

            “Fantastic.  What else?”

            “I don’t know much about his sister.  She’s been in a few films, but she isn’t really much of an actress.  I think she travels with Arthur sometimes.  They’re photographed together a lot.  I don’t know the whole story with her, though.  Are you seriously going to go have sex with Arthur Pendragon?”

            Merlin grinned.  “I wish.  I don’t really know.  I don’t even know why I agreed to go all the way to Eastminster.  It’s not really like me, is it?  He did snog me once, but that was ages ago.”

            “He called you again after six months. Must’ve been one hell of a snog.”

            “It was.”

            “When you get back, I want you to tell me _everything_.”

            “I promise.”

______

            It took Merlin promising to clean Gwaine’s entire house before he was allowed to borrow one of his brother’s cars.  Rhys was infamous in Camelot Heights for buying broken-down automobiles and fixing them slowly over time.  Merlin wasn’t about to drive a half-working car and it took a bit of extra – well – _begging_ before Gwaine gave him a very decent car.

            He second-guessed himself the entire ride to Eastminster.  It had been nearly half a year since he’d even spoken with Arthur, so why was he driving to see him?  After the first couple weeks, Merlin had stopped thinking about him and hadn’t thought about him since – until the phone call.  He didn’t know any celebrities, but he could only imagine the type. Perhaps Arthur had someone in every city he visited, someone blinded by his pretty face, his fame, who would come to shag him whenever he rang.

            Merlin knew himself better than that, though. He knew he didn’t care if Arthur was a famous actor, but it certainly made him more intriguing; it was a lifestyle Merlin knew nothing about.  Since Will, there had been a few feeble attempts at relationships, but mostly after a couple of weeks of good sex, Merlin grew bored and moved on.  He wasn’t sure why, wasn’t sure if it was because he was still in love with Will or because the right person still hadn’t come along.  But he knew he hadn’t been as attracted to anyone as he had been to Arthur.

            The Northern Mansion was the oldest building in Eastminster, filled with Victorian décor.  Merlin pulled into the car park and found the only empty space left.  He took his jacket out of the passenger’s side and slung it over his shoulder.  He took his gray newsboy cap out of his back pocket and looked at it.  It was a good luck charm or comfort blanket for him, but he didn’t want it just now, so he left it in the car.  He second-guessed himself only for a moment.  Walking up to the front entrance, Merlin tried to cough out the butterflies in his stomach.  Once he was inside the hotel, he walked to the front desk.

            “Er, hello,” he said to the pretty woman behind the counter.  “Which floor is the Royal Suite on?”

            She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Five,” she answered.  “Which magazine you with?”

            “Pardon?”

            “Which magazine are you with?  Or website, or whatever?”

            Merlin had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m not,” he answered.

            “Well good luck getting into the Royal Suite, then,” she said sarcastically.

            “Right.  Okay, then.” Merlin turned and looked for the lifts. They were to his left and he waited until the doors open.  He pressed the number five and tapped his foot against the floor nervously as the lift went up.

            The fifth floor was nothing but suites and instead of room numbers, each door had a name written across the front.  Merlin passed by several rooms before he came to the one called the Royal Suite.  A man with a clipboard stood in front of the door, a blackberry in one hand.

            “Pass?”

            “What?” asked Merlin, completely confused. Perhaps Arthur was playing a really fucked up game with him.

            The man sighed.  “What’s your name?  It should be on the list.”

            Merlin thought for a moment about just turning around and leaving, but then, “My name’s Merlin Emrys, from Camelot Heights . . .”

            The man began flipping through pages on his clipboard.  “Camelot?”

            “. . . Yeah.”

            “I don’t see your name . . .”

            “Of course not,” sighed Merlin.  “This is so bloody fucked,” he added under his breath. 

            “Sorry, mate.”

            Merlin grumbled and turned to walk down the corridor. Suddenly, he stopped and turned back around.  He hadn’t agreed to clean Gwaine’s house and driven an hour for nothing.  “Look, I met Arthur Pendragon several months ago when he was on holiday in Camelot Heights.  I take photographs for the Camelot Ink.  It’s a little local newspaper that only comes out once a week, but Arthur phoned me last night and asked, since we met once, if I wanted to come and, well . . . god, this sounds bloody pathetic, doesn’t it?”

            The man shrugged.  “Stranger things have happened.”

            “Right.  Well, thanks anyway.”

            “Hang on a mo’, mate.”  The man began tapping his fingers against his blackberry.  “My name’s Lance.”

            “Pleasure,” said Merlin, completely monotone.

            “He’s so busy, Arthur is, sometimes he forgets to tell me things like that.  So I’ll just check that he really did in fact ring you and then I’ll let you in.”

            “Thanks.”

            Lance glanced Merlin up and down.

            “What?”

            Lance shook his head.  “Nothing.  You look very different than most of the – ah – reporters.”

            Merlin furrowed his eyebrows.  “Pardon?”  He somehow thought there might be a double entendre in that phrase.

            “Arthur just sent me a text back.  You’re in.  There’s a handful of journalists left.  You’re probably the last one who showed up.  You can wait in the main room.  Arthur’s taking five-minute interviews in the conference room inside.”

            “Right,” said Merlin. 

            Lance held the door open for Merlin, who made his way inside. 

            “Thanks,” he said as he walked through the threshold. The living room inside was full of people, seven men and three women.  Merlin took a seat in an empty armchair.  He cross his legs, looking down at his worn trainers and his too-long jeans.  Everyone else in the room looked clean-cut, businesslike, with neckties or pencil skirts. Merlin, on the other hand, looked as though he should be going bowling with his mates. 

            After twenty minutes of the other people in the room getting up and leaving, presumably to interview Arthur Pendragon, and coming back again, only to leave through the front door the of hotel room, Merlin thought about leaving himself.  He sent a rambling text to Gwen and he got an almost-immediate reply:  _STAY. At least to yell at the bloody prat for making you wait for a shag._   Merlin rolled his eyes and typed back, _I’m not going to shag Arthur Pendragon, just kill him_.

            Finally, he was the last one in the room.  A man, not quite as muscled as Lance, motioned for Merlin to come into the other room.  The second room looked like a conference room, with a long table and two computers on top of it.  Arthur sat, facing the door, rubbing his eyes.  He looked just as handsome as he had six months prior, only this time Merlin was sure Arthur _definitely_ was a prat.

            Arthur looked up and for a moment looked as though he didn’t recognize Merlin, but then a slow smile stretched across his face.

            “Hello.”

            Merlin frowned and crossed his arms.

            “Sit down,” commanded Arthur.  “Look, this was all supposed to be over yesterday, but a few magazines didn’t get  to interview me, so it was extended through today.  Sit down.”

            Merlin sat.  “Unbelievable.  Is it all over now?”

            “It should be.  I was going to see if you wanted—”  Arthur stopped talking and pressed his lips together as the door to the conference room opened and Lance walked inside.

            “Don’t stop the interview on account of me,” said Lance, walking over to one of the computers.  He didn’t sit down, but leaned over and began typing things in.

            “Yes,” said Arthur, “keep asking me questions.”

            “Anything I want to know?”

            Arthur’s eyes lit up, as though he knew how cheeky Merlin could be.  “Not anything, no.  Any questions about the new film?”

            “What was your favorite part of the new film?”

            “The ending.  I think people will really be able to identify with it.”

            “Oh,” said Merlin.  “Have you ever thought of pushing the boundaries of your characters? Trying for something new?”

            “Pardon me,” said Lance, turning to Arthur, “Elspeth said you weren’t going back to London for your holiday?”

            “Right,” said Arthur, glancing at Merlin. “Elspeth is my PA.”

            “I dunno what a PA is.”

            “Personal assistant,” answered Lance. 

Arthur looked back at Lance.  “Did she find anything?”

            “Yes, she just sent me an email about it, but you know how hard it is sometimes to read emails on my blackberry.  The text is so small.  I will go there tonight and check the house over.  Owen and Charles will be here as your security backup if you need it.”

            “I’m sure I won’t.”

            “You said that last time and remember the girls who tried to break into you room in Los Angeles?”

            Arthur shrugged.  “Oh, right.”

            “I’ll see you tomorrow, mate.”

            “Thanks, Lance.”  Arthur waited until Lance left the room to look at Merlin again. “Sorry.  How have you been the last few months?”

            “Good,” answered Merlin.  “Business was good over the summer, but now it’s slowed down and it’ll be slow until the weather turns warm again.”

            “Have a boyfriend yet?”

            “What?  No. What?”

            Arthur smirked.  “Good.  Fancy a drink?”

            “Are you going to get me pissed and try to take advantage of me?”

            “Would you let me?”

            “Well last time you didn’t call for six months and all we did was snog.”

            “I was rather busy, you know, filming in America.”

            Merlin normally wasn’t so impulsive, but for some reason with Arthur he didn’t care.  He hoped this didn’t make him as bad as all the other women (and probably men) who Arthur slept with.  Oh, it probably did, but Merlin hadn’t gotten laid in nearly a year and here was a famous, rich, _beautiful_ man who wanted to “take advantage” of him.

            “Stay here,” said Arthur.

            “Brilliant, just what I want to do,” mumbled Merlin, “is wait another two bloody hours.”

            Arthur ignored him and left the room.  It wasn’t two hours, but it was nearly twenty minutes before Arthur came back.  Merlin followed him out of the conference room and into the living room.  He stood there, feeling out of place and rather awkward, not sure where to sit or what to do with his hands.  Arthur had disappeared into the kitchen.  When he came back, he had four beer bottles in his hands.  He handed one to Merlin, sat two on one of the end tables next to the over-stuffed sofa, and then opened the last one.  He drank from the bottle, keeping his eyes on Merlin. 

            “I sent everyone away.  I don’t think anyone even noticed you were still in the conference room.”

            “You need better security, then.”

            Arthur shook his head.  “Lance has been with me since college.  We’ve been mates since before I ever had a bloody IMBd profile.”

            “What’s—?”

            “Oh, Merlin,” sighed Arthur, “really?  Do you still only check your email on Monday mornings?”

            “Yes,” answered Merlin.

            “I miss that.”

            “You spent one evening with me and my mates. You don’t know me to miss me.”

            Arthur looked as though he was considering that, his eyes flickering over Merlin’s face, studying him.  “Perhaps,” he replied.  “It’s strange, isn’t it?  You, I mean.  _You’re_ strange.  You don’t read magazines about me and I doubt you’ve ever Googled anything in your life, let alone me.  It’s like you live in this world where the media doesn’t touch you and you don’t even care.  Do you read the news?”

            “I read the newspaper,” replied Merlin. “There’s a local one that publishes once a week, but we also get deliveries from London.  Gwen set that up, I don’t know how it all works.  So I know what’s happening in the world. America’s a right bloody mess, that’s for sure.”

            “So you know current events, but you don’t keep up with celebrity events.”

            “They don’t matter,” said Merlin.  “Who cares?  What makes you more important than me?  Now, take the American President or the French – well, not the French, because they’re even sadder than the Americans – okay, so take any of the world leaders, yeah?  _They_ matter because they make decisions that could change the course of history.  Reading some online article about how you went to some club and drank too much tequila and had your hand down some girl’s blouse isn’t news.  In fact, it’s bollocks.”

            “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

            Merlin tossed his jacket onto the back of the sofa. He noticed Arthur had used his bottle opener already to open his beer, so he drank from it, a long, slow sip, holding Arthur’s gaze.  Then, feeling charged by the alcohol, adrenaline, and annoyance, Merlin sat his bottle down, crossed the room, and cupped Arthur’s face in his hands.  He pulled Arthur towards him, crashing their lips together.  The kiss was rough, but deep.  Merlin ran his tongue along Arthur’s teeth before curling it around Arthur’s.  He let one hand travel from Arthur’s cheek, down his neck, his arm, to the waistband of his trousers.  He felt for the belt buckle and quickly undid it. 

            Arthur pushed against Merlin until he was walking backwards.  Merlin tripped over a table leg, but Arthur righted him and pushed him against a wall. Merlin’s back hit the paneling and he groaned, feeling Arthur’s body pressed against his.

            He lifted his left leg, wrapping it around the back of Arthur’s knees, pushing Arthur even closer to him.

            “You want it?” asked Arthur.

            Merlin shook his head.  “You can’t have me yet,” he replied.  “You have to earn that.”

            “Oh really?”

            Merlin nodded, finding it hard to string together enough coherent thoughts to reply when Arthur was biting his neck.

            “Take this off,” commanded Arthur, undoing the buttons to Merlin’s shirt.

            Merlin slapped Arthur’s hands away and pulled his short-sleeve button-down shirt over his head.  He quickly stripped off the long-sleeve shirt that was underneath and stood there, his eyes staring at Arthur’s mouth, wanting to kiss it again.

            Arthur’s eyes were focused on Merlin’s chest and suddenly Merlin felt nervous again.  He was completely lacking muscles, unlike Arthur, and probably unlike the men Arthur usually slept with.

            “Hey,” said Arthur, reaching up and placing his palm against Merlin’s cheek.  “Where’d you go?  Your eyes . . .”

            Merlin blinked.  “Sorry.”

            “You don’t have—”

            “No, it’s not—”

            “Are you sure?” breathed Arthur, his lips barely an inch from Merlin’s.

            Merlin nodded, licking Arthur’s breath off his lips, wanting to taste every bit of the man in front of him.

            “I remember everything from that night, you know. Your friends, our conversation, the way your mouth felt against mine.  All of it.”

            “Why didn’t you call?”

            “Because I don’t know what I’m doing,” confessed Arthur.

            “Then let me show you.”

            Merlin closed the space.  Arthur let out a breath of surprise and Merlin drank it in. He finished undoing Arthur’s trousers and showed him – showed him exactly what everything was supposed to be like.

______

            They lay on the floor, clothes discarded around them, catching their breaths.  They were sweaty and dirty, come on Arthur’s hand and on the corner of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin wiped it away with the back of his hand and shut his eyes tight. 

            “Should I go home?” asked Merlin.

            “Why do you ask that?”

            “Dunno,” said Merlin honestly.  “I don’t know how these things go, I’ve never given a movie star head.”

            Arthur laughed.  “You’re ridiculous”

            “Oh,” said Merlin, unsure what that even meant. “You’re a bit of a prat, you know that, right?”

            Arthur turned on his side and looked at Merlin. “Why d’you say that?”

            “Because.  You snog me, you don’t call me – which is fine because I never expected you to – and then you _do_ call, but you make me wait bloody hours to see you and pretend I’m some journalist from some newspaper that I completely made up, the _Camelot Ink_ or some such, and then you bring me off with your hand.  And I just expect this to somehow end badly for me.”

            “Why?”

            Merlin turned his head to look at Arthur.  He smiled, albeit a little sadly.  “I don’t meet a lot of men in Camelot Heights, you know. None of the locals are gay, none remotely close to my age, at least.  The rest of the men are just tourists, so sometimes I find someone, but it doesn’t really last.  They live in London or some other city and I’ll never leave my home.  So what’ll come of this?  It’s just a shag, yeah?”

            Arthur looked embarrassed.  He shrugged and lay back down.  He reached over and took Merlin’s hand in his, bringing it to his mouth, and kissing his palm.  “I don’t know what this is,” whispered Arthur, “but when I realized how close this junket was to your town, I rang you up.  I even still had your shop number in my phone.  I thought of calling it a few times, but I didn’t.”

            “Are you gay?” asked Merlin suddenly.

            Arthur didn’t answer.  “Do you know who my father is?”

            “Yeah, but only because I asked Gwen.  I’ve seen some of his pictures, but not many.”

            “He’s very conservative.  He wrote a book on family values and the duty that those of us in the public eye have to uphold those values.”

            “So you haven’t come out of the closet because of your father,” commented Merlin.  “That’s unbelievable.”

            “I’m sorry.  There would be so much press.  It’s easier this way.”

            “Easier hiding?  Have none of the other men you’ve slept with come forward?”

            Arthur shook his head.  “There haven’t been many.”

            “How many?” challenged Merlin.

            “Before you, only two.”

            Merlin quickly sat up.  “ _Two_?  You’ve only slept with _two_ men? You’re Arthur bloody Pendragon – you could’ve slept with a hundred men if you wanted and you’ve only had _two_.  Wait, are you lying?”

            Arthur shook his head.  “No.”

            “How many women?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me.”

            Arthur shrugged.  “I haven’t kept count.”

            “That’s so gross.”

            “Have you ever slept with a woman before?”

            Merlin shook his head.  “Definitely not.”

            “ _Really_? That’s fascinating.”

            “Stop saying ‘fascinating.’  And I told you, I came out when I was sixteen.  I knew I wasn’t interested in women and I never denied who I was.”

            Arthur looked deflated at the comment.  His eyes flickered away from Merlin.

            Merlin hadn’t driven all the way to the hotel just to make Arthur feel bad.  He was sitting next to one of the most beautiful men in the world; he should take full advantage of the situation.  He moved over on top of Arthur, slowly sliding down until he was draped over his body.  He slowly ground his hips against Arthur’s, their cocks rubbing together.  Arthur reached up, his fingers tracing Merlin’s ear. They kissed, slow, deep, and explorative.  Merlin ran his hands over Arthur’s body, feeling the grooves in his biceps, the dip of his hips.  Underneath him, Arthur groaned.

            “If you want me,” Merlin whispered, his voice rough, “you can take me.”

            Arthur pushed against Merlin, just enough to look him in the eye.  “You want me to—”

            “Take me,” said Merlin, nodding.  “So I can feel you inside me.”

            Arthur blinked, then grinned. 

            “Do you have any—”

            “In my wallet.”

            Merlin looked around them.  He spotted Arthur’s trousers a few feet away.  He reached for them and pulled them to him.  Rummaging through the pockets, he found Arthur’s wallet and pulled out a condom.  “Really? How long’s this been here?”

            “Since about nine this morning.”

            Merlin opened it and held it between his fingers. Arthur reached for it, but Merlin pulled away.  “Let me.” His fingers stroked Arthur, getting him hard, _needing_ to feel him hard under his touch.  He leaned down and kissed him.  “How d’you want me?” he asked against Arthur’s mouth.

            “Just like that,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s jaw, “where I can see you.”

            Merlin nodded and gasped into Arthur’s ear as he felt Arthur’s fingers reach around him to slowly work him open.  For someone who had only been with two men before, Arthur seemed to know what to do.  Merlin shut his eyes tight, relishing the feelings that washed over his body, the warmth and the tingling sensations that settled in his belly.  His muscles clenched, anticipating the feeling of Arthur inside his body.

            Merlin groaned.  “Fucking take me now.”

            Arthur kissed him, and then he did.

______

            The next morning, Merlin woke up aching.  His whole body hurt and for a moment, he had no idea why.  Then he remembered.  He smiled into his pillow, swallowing back a laugh.  Sex pains were always good pains.  An arm reached around and encircled him.  Lips pressed against the back of his neck.

            “Morning,” mumbled Arthur.

            “Hello,” replied Merlin.  “Er, don’t breathe too close to me.  Morning breath.”

            Arthur laughed behind him.  “You’re ridiculous.”

            “You like telling me that, don’t you?”  He could feel Arthur grin against his skin. This was the first time he had woken up so happy since Will.  This feeling was perfect and Merlin refused to think about it having to go away.  He knew who Arthur was, knew he wouldn’t stay in town forever, knew they’d have to end their affair.  But for now it was perfect, and he wanted to hang on to it for as long as he could.

            “I could fuck you all morning.”

            Merlin laughed.  “My poor body can’t move.  I haven’t had that much exercise in ages.”  He turned around and kissed Arthur’s mouth, not caring if his breath tasted stale.

            “Do you have to go home to open shop or check or email or something?”

            “Email can wait,” replied Merlin, “and I’ll only go home if you want me to.  Octobers are slow, I won’t lose that much business if no one is there to open my shop.”

            “Good, because I don’t plan on putting on clothes today.”

            “Brilliant.”

            “Want some breakfast?  I feel rather famished.”

            “You can eat me,” said Merlin.

            They began to kiss again, but were interrupted by a knock at the door.

            Arthur murmured obscenities under his breath. “I’ll get rid of them.  Stay here.”

            Merlin sat up in bed and watched Arthur rummage through drawers until he found a pair of pajama bottoms.  Then, Arthur slipped out of the room.  Merlin touched his mouth; his lips were swollen from so much kissing, so much biting, the night before.  He heard voices filter into the room.  One was Arthur’s, of course, but the other belonged to a girl.  He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but something in the pitch of Arthur’s voice told him it wasn’t good.

            Merlin got out of bed and looked around for his clothes.  He didn’t remember ever picking them up from the living room; he only hoped that Arthur had gathered them up before he answered the door. 

            He had a funny feeling inside his stomach, so Merlin went to the wardrobe and took out a plain white t-shirt of Arthur’s and a pair of jeans.  The jeans were too big; Merlin really was rather skinny.  He hesitated by the bedroom door, unsure if he should try and escape or not.  He tiptoed down the hallway.  He saw his shoes next to the sofa, but Arthur and the owner of the female voice were nowhere in sight.  Merlin grabbed his trainers and shoved his feet into them.

            “Who are you?”

            Merlin whirled around.  He had been _so close_.  He knew he must’ve had a guilty look on his face, for the girl immediately narrowed her eyes.  She was attractive, he supposed, with long blonde hair and bright eyes.  She wore loads of makeup and a short black skirt.

            “Er,” replied Merlin.

            “This is a mate of mine from prep school.  He was in Eastminster for the weekend and we got rather sloshed last night.  I invited him to stay since he wasn’t in a fit state to drive home.”

            “Oh.”  The girl’s expression softened.  “Then you must know who I am.”  She smiled. “I came all the way from filming in Paris just to surprise Arthur.”  She turned to Arthur and hugged him.  She kissed his cheek and smiled again.  “I missed you.”

            “I didn’t get the impression the last time you left that you were going to miss me while you were in Paris.”

            The girl giggled.  “That was just one of our silly fights.”

            “You threw a lamp.”

            Ignoring Arthur, the girl held her hand out to Merlin. “I’m Sophia Michaels, but I’m sure you know that already.”

            Merlin crossed the room and shook her hand.  “I’m Merlin.”

            “That’s a nice name.  I’m Arthur’s girlfriend, but I’m sure you knew that already, too.”

            Merlin nearly choked.  “Arthur’s – Arthur’s _girlfriend_?”

            “Yes, that’s right.  Fiancée soon, if I have anything to say about it.”

            Arthur looked miserable; Merlin was glad.  He had thought Arthur was different.  He barely knew him, but he had never expected this.  If he’d known Arthur had a girlfriend, Merlin would have stayed in Camelot.

            “Right.  Well. I’ll just be going now, won’t I?”

            Merlin ignored Arthur’s protests and searched for his car keys and mobile.  He left the hotel room and was halfway to the lifts when he realized he’d left his wallet and his jeans behind.  Oh well, he could always replace his license and he owned too many pairs of jeans as it was.  

            He looked at his phone and immediately sent Gwen a message.

            _Did you know he had a bloody girlfriend?_

            His phone immediately rang; it was Gwen.

            He didn’t get the chance to say hello before her voice cried out, “I thought you knew!”

            “How would I know?  I don’t read gossip rags like the rest of the bloody world!  _How would I know_?”

            “Oh, Merlin, what happened?”

            But Merlin just hung up the phone.  He switched his mobile off and ran out of the lifts and to the car.  He drove home in silence, wanting nothing more than to burn the clothes he was wearing and take a shower to wash Arthur off his body.

______

            Merlin had forgiven Gwen almost immediately, against his better judgment however.  And two weeks later, he had finally gotten over his bad mood.  He was about to close up shop early that night.  It was a Sunday and he’d only had three customers the entire day.  He wanted to go to Leon’s and let his mate get him good and pissed.

            The bell over the door rang as someone walked in the front door.

            “Sorry, we’re closed,” said Merlin, not looking up from where he was reorganizing photos on one of his shelves.

            “It’s me.”

            Merlin turned.  Arthur Pendragon stood in the middle of his shop.  “I don’t really want to talk to you,” said Merlin truthfully.

            “I know, that’s fine.  I just wanted to give you this.”  He held out a magazine.  When Merlin made no move to take it, Arthur said, “I didn’t know she was going to come. We’d broken up a few weeks before. We were always a bit rocky and I thought we were finished, only I suppose she had other ideas.  If I’d known she was going to show up, I wouldn’t have – I’m not that sort of person.”

            “Were you dating her when you kissed me in the cemetery?”

            “Yes.”  At least Arthur had the decency to look guilty.

            “I don’t want to be involved with someone who is going to cheat on his partner – male or female.”

            “It’s not—”  Arthur shook his head.  “She’s gone now.  You don’t have to believe me.  Well, I’ll just leave this for you.”  He sat the magazine down next to the register.  “I have a house, on Hampton Street.  It was the place that Lance was checking out for me, remember?  I was going to tell you that morning before – well, before.  I had the idea of coming here and spending my break between films.  I had a month, but I didn’t know how to talk to you.  I’ve never – this has never happened to me before. Normally I can speak in complete sentences, but you make me speechless.”

            Merlin felt his face heat up, but he didn’t reply.

            “If you fancy a chat, I’ve rented house number four on Hampton Street.  Come by any time you like.”

            Merlin still didn’t reply. 

            “Oh and here.”  Arthur held up a bag and set it next to the magazine.  “It’s your jeans and wallet that you left in my hotel. I was going to send them over in the post, but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to see you, because I did. Want to see you, I mean.”

            “I already got a new license.  Sorry you had to waste your time coming here to bring back my things.  I’ve already replaced them.”  Merlin hoped his tone insinuated _I’ve already replaced you_ , but he was never good at subtleties.

He watched Arthur leave his shop.  Merlin quickly went to the door and locked it.  He closed the blinds and grabbed the magazine and looked at the cover:

 

**_ARTHUR PENDRAGON CONFIRMS SPLIT WITH SOPHIA MICHAELS_ **

****

_Oh shit_ , thought Merlin.  He put his back against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor.  He flipped through the magazine until he found the article about Arthur.  His eyes quickly scanned through it until he realized that it wasn’t prose, but an interview.  Merlin slowed his reading; Arthur apparently spoke to a columnist with the initials JK –

 

**_JK: Arthur, you normally refuse interviews about personal matters and only answer questions about your films.  Why the sudden change?_ **

****

**_AP:  I didn’t want the media to get hold of gossip and lies and print them as truths.  I didn’t want this to be nastier than it has to be.  My publicist typed a statement, but it didn’t give the whole story._ **

****

**_JK: What IS the whole story?_ **

****

**_AP: Sophia and I ended our relationship over a month ago.  It wasn’t what either of us wanted.  I cannot comment on her feelings, but I believe it was mutual.  We fit together for a while and sometimes it’s easier to date fellow actors who understand what it’s like to run from the paparazzi.  In the end, we weren’t compatible so we’ve both moved on with our lives._ **

****

**_JK: Have you met someone else?_ **

****

**_AP: [pauses]  I thought I did, but I may have ruined it.  Time will tell._ **

****

**_JK: Care to elaborate?  I’m sure your female fans would love to hear all about your new girlfriend._ **

****

**_AP: No, I have to keep some secrets, don’t I? [smiles]  I think I’ve given more personal information here than I ever have before, so I would like to go on record as requesting privacy for both me and Sophia […]_ **

 

            Merlin stopped reading and closed the magazine. “Holy shit.”  He immediately got up and tried to run out his shop door. “Bloody hell,” he swore, kicking the locked door.  He opened it up and quickly locked it back again.  He burst through the door of the coffeehouse and looked around.  Gwen was wiping down tables and looked immediately alarmed.

            “Are you ill?”

            “No.  Yes. Don’t ask me questions. Here.”  He thrust the magazine at her.  “Read.”

______

            Camelot Heights was built next to the sea.  The center of the town was about a kilometer’s walk away from the high cliffs and only another half-kilometer to the beach. It wasn’t a beach town, not the way most of the towns that sat next to the sea were.  Camelot Heights drew its crowds and tourists because of the locals, because of the artwork and restaurants, because it was a town that didn’t have any corporations or chain business, a town of independent people and original shops. 

            Merlin liked the cliffs.  When he first moved to town, that’s where he spent all his free time. He liked to sit on the rocks, watch the sea move below him, smell the salty air, feel the breeze whip against his cheeks.  It was the perfect place to get lost, to do nothing but think and work out his problems. They weren’t terribly high and Merlin was never scared of them.

            After he left Gwen’s, he went for a walk and found himself at the cliffs, even though it had been years since he’d come to this particular rock.  His feet led him there; he was so lost in thought that he didn’t even realize it until he saw the rock he used to always sit on with Will.

            He stayed there for a while,  his eyes closed, just listening to the sounds.  He opened his eyes when he heard footsteps patting the ground behind him.  He turned and was thoroughly surprised to see Arthur jogging through the trees and across the open grass.  Arthur looked just as surprised as Merlin felt.

            “Hi,” said Merlin.  “What are you . . . ?”

            “I run every day,” answered Arthur.  “I found this place the last time I was here.”

            “I used to come here all the time when I was younger.  Sort of ‘my’ place.”

            “Oh,” said Arthur.  He began stretching his legs.  “I’ll, er, leave you alone, then. . . .”

            “No, wait,” cried Merlin as Arthur began to jog away.  Oh, god, why had he said that?  He hadn’t meant to say that!  “Stay.”

            Arthur hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

            “Please?”

            He nodded and sat down on the rock next to Merlin, barely touching him.  He leaned over, his elbows on his knees, his chin in hands.  He looked very unlike the Arthur Merlin had first met.  Now he was hunched, with worry lines between his eyebrows.

            “Will broke my heart here,” said Merlin and he had no idea why the hell he was saying it.

            Arthur was quiet, but he turned his head to look at Merlin; Merlin kept his eyes on the water in front of him.

            “We were completely incompatible and we knew it. The entire time we were together we _knew_ we shouldn’t be.  We didn’t really fight, but he wanted to be in the big city and was just staying in Camelot Heights for me.  He liked watching athletics and eating greasy food.  He hated art, all art, including mine, even though he pretended he liked it.  I don’t even know how we got together or stayed together.  I knew he loved me and I loved him and we managed to stay together for a couple years.”

            Merlin took the newsboy cap out of his pocket. He brushed the fringe away from his forehead and put the hat on.

            “Looks good,” said Arthur.

            Merlin smiled.  “Thanks.”

            “What happened here at the rocks?”

            “A month before we had broken up . . . it was mutual, honestly.  I knew we needed to breakup and _he_ knew we needed to, but somehow even though we had broken up, we still lived in the same house and slept in the same bed.  But I hadn’t realized he’d moved on so quickly.  When I found out that he was already sleeping with someone else, I bolted. I packed all my stuff and moved into the flat above my shop.  He found me here one morning.  It was a Sunday and I hadn’t slept so I thought I’d come here . . . see if I could see the sun rise or something . . . I was probably crying – I mean, that’s all I did for about a week or two.  We got into this huge argument and said the worst things, you know?  Things that I want to take back.  Things I wish he could take back.

            “We stopped shouting after a while, we just couldn’t keep it up.  I walked away because I couldn’t even be around him . . . but Will just – he just kept following me . . . all the way through those woods” – Merlin motioned towards the cluster of trees several yards away – “and he just kept saying over and over and over and fucking _over_ again how he just wanted to _talk_ and figure out how to be _friends_ , but that would be impossible and I knew that.  I’m a fast runner – well, faster than average, I think.  So I started running away from him – I just couldn’t _deal_ with him anymore.” Merlin took in a shaky breath. “And I ran across one of the back roads and so did Will, only he was always a bloody moron and ran right in front of a truck.”

            Arthur’s mouth dropped open and he flinched in surprise, but remained quiet.

            “It was Elaina’s truck, the one that carries all the produce.  It was barely a quarter after seven . . . still rather dark outside . . . she never saw him.  I never blamed her – I knew Will hadn’t looked and I had seen her coming when I ran across the street, but I knew I had enough time.  I didn’t . . . I never . . . I just never thought Will would have just ran right after me like that.  He should’ve _looked_.”

            Merlin’s hands ran over the cap on his head.  He took it off and looked at it.  He twisted it in his hands and put it to his nose, where he breathed in deeply.  “This was Will’s,” he said.  “You can see right here, there’s a stain of blood.  I never tried to get it out.  Maybe I should’ve, but I didn’t really want to wash him away.” 

            Again, Merlin had rendered Arthur speechless.

            “That was all years ago.  I’ve been with men after that . . . never a relationship, though. I dunno why.  Gwen reckons I’m afraid, but I tell her I’m just waiting for the right person and when he comes along, things will be different.”  Merlin shrugged.  “But maybe she’s right.  Maybe I’m afraid of losing someone again.  No one really knows we were broken up or that he was running after me when he got hit. Those details were too much to deal with when he died.  Gwen doesn’t even know all the details and she fucking knows everything about me.”

            “Merlin.”  Arthur said his name slowly, as though simply part of his breath.

            “I don’t know why I am telling you all this. You don’t really need to know, I suppose.  I mean, like I said, I’ve been with other men . . . slept with other men after Will . . . not loads of blokes, but a few.”  Merlin rubbed his eyes and shook his head.  “Even though I knew Will and I were breaking up – I knew we weren’t meant to be together forever – it still – when I realized he was sleeping with someone else I couldn’t – my heart split in two.”

            “So seeing me with Sophia—” Arthur began.

            “No, no,” interrupted Merlin.  “It’s not like that.  We were never—”

            “But there was something, wasn’t there?” asked Arthur, his tone very serious.  “There was that night with your friends and later in the cemetery.  I didn’t make that connection up, did I?”

            “No,” said Merlin.  “But then why wait six months to call?”

            “I was filming in Los Angeles.  I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.  I was just a pompous rich actor, if I remember correctly?”

            Merlin felt his face heat.  “Absolutely.”  He looked at Arthur and they both laughed.

            “Well, that’s why I didn’t call.  Partly.”

            “And partly something else?”

            “All the men I’ve slept with were gone the same night.  And by ‘all’ I mean ‘two.’”

            “How’ve you kept that a secret?”

            “Morgana.”

            “Your sister?”

            Arthur nodded.  “She knows all my secrets.  And Lance does as well.  I’ve only ever indulged twice and it was sloppy and quick and then they were out the door.  So I didn’t call you because I never call, I never get phone numbers and I never promise breakfast in the morning.”

            “I spent the night.  We slept together,” said Merlin.  “You had your arms around me all night and then you asked if I wanted breakfast in the morning.  You called me after six months.  Why me?”

            “I don’t know,” said Arthur.  “I wish I did, but I don’t.  I can’t explain it.”

            “Do you—”  Merlin stopped and then started again.  “Are you gay?”

            “Does it matter to you either way?”

            “I suppose not, as long as you’re not heterosexual.”

            “I think I sufficiently proved I’m not heterosexual when I put your cock in my mouth.”

            Merlin’s eyes widened.  “I cannot believe you just said that!” he cried.

            Arthur put his hand underneath Merlin’s chin and lifted it up.  He leaned over and kissed Merlin very softly, barely a brushing together of their lips.

            “Do you want to come back to my house?  I’ve let a house on Hampton Street, did I tell you?”

            Merlin nodded.

            “I have it for two more weeks, unless I decide to extend my stay.  Morgana is there, she’s been doing all my shopping so no one in the village sees me. Lance is staying at the Camelot Inn, in case I need any security.  He’s always close by, because I can never tell what might happen.  I just don’t want any press here, I don’t like hiding.  So, if you want to come by you can.”

            “I’ll think about it.”

            “All right.  I’ll finish my run, then.”

            Merlin nodded again.

            “Thanks for telling me everything.”

            Merlin didn’t say anything . . . he just looked out at the sea.

______

            He’d already made up his mind before he got home, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it.  The problem with Camelot Heights was that it was difficult to keep a secret.  The next morning he wrote a sign and put it on the inside of his shop door:  **CLOSED FOR HOLIDAY – WILL REOPEN SATURDAY MORNING, 10AM.**   He packed a bag and put his camera in his camera bag and locked all his doors behind him.

            The first thing he did was go to the coffeehouse to see Gwen, but she wasn’t there; one of her part-time baristas had opened the shop for her.  Merlin walked through the streets to her house, knocking on the front door, even though he had a key.

            Gwen opened the door, still wearing her pajamas. “G’morning, Merlin,” she greeted sleepily.  She blinked, her eyes roaming the bags in his hands.  “Going some place?”

            “Yes.  Holiday.”

            “Where?”

            Merlin shrugged.  “Just a few days.  I really want to get away, take a few photos.”

            “Does this have to do with that interview Arthur Pendragon gave?”

            “Perhaps.  I didn’t want to worry you so I wanted to just tell you I wouldn’t be around for a few days, but I’ll be back on Saturday to open the shop in case anyone comes by.”

            “Sure, of course.  Are you all right?”

            “I’m brilliant.”

            Gwen looked as though she didn’t believe Merlin whatsoever, but she didn’t say anything, just reached and gave him a hug. She smiled as she let go.  Merlin returned the smile and turned to leave. He walked down the street, towards the train station, but when he was out of sight of Gwen’s house, he made a sharp turn and crossed over three streets until he came to Hampton Street, which was one of the outlying roads where the largest houses were.  Merlin walked until he found the mailbox that had the number four on it.  He walked up the drive and knocked on the front door.

            A girl with long, dark hair answered.  She looked like a model, with clear skin, bright eye makeup, and red lips that smiled so easily Merlin was sure she must practice in front of the mirror.  She had on a tight shirt and a pair of jeans.  Her feet were bare so Merlin could see that her toenails were painted the same pink as her fingernails.

            “Holy shit,” she said, her smile widening. “You’re Merlin, aren’t you?”

            “Er,” said Merlin.  “Hello.”

            “You are gorgeous.”

            “Pardon?” he choked.

            “My brother told me all about you.  Your ears _are_ absurd, aren’t they?  But you’re gorgeous.”

            “I’ve never felt like a piece of meat before,” said Merlin.  “Is this what Arthur feels like just about all the time?”

            “Absolutely.  Hope I didn’t offend you.  I’m rather blunt, or so my brother keeps telling me.   Shall I tell him you’re here?  He’s been so grumpy lately.”  Morgana laughed.  “Grumpier than normal, I should say, because he’s always grumpy.  It’s a wonder that I put up with him.”

            “Morgana?” came Arthur’s voice from another room. “Who’s at the door?”

            “Come see,” said Morgana.

            Merlin watched Arthur walk into the entryway of the large house.  His hair didn’t have the usual mousse or gel or whatever it was he used to make it look perfect all the time.  In fact, this time, he looked as though he’d just woken up, his hair was disheveled and his eyes appeared bleary.  He had on a plain red t-shirt and jeans, his feet also bare, and in his hand he held a mug of coffee or tea. 

            “Merlin,” said Arthur, genuine surprise in his voice.

            “Er, I was just going to meet Lance for a cup of tea at that charming little coffeehouse.  I’ll just get my shoes and jacket out of my room, then.  I can let myself out the back way, yeah?  Leave you to it.”

            “Shut up, Morgana,” snapped Arthur.

            Morgana winked at Merlin as she walked down the hallway and to the staircase that Merlin could just see off to the side. But his eyes were focused on Arthur, who had just taken two steps towards him.

            “Can I come in?” asked Merlin.

            Arthur nodded and Merlin walked through the door and shut it behind him.  He dropped his bags on the floor and walked towards Arthur.

            “You better put that cup down.”

            “What?  Why?” asked Arthur as he put his cup down on a table in the entryway where a large vase of flowers sat.

            “So I can do this.”  Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur’s shirt and pulled him to him. He crashed their lips together, rough and hard.  Immediately he felt Arthur’s hands on him, too, but he didn’t want give him the upper hand.  Merlin pushed against Arthur until Arthur was pressed up against the wall.  “You invited me to come to your house, so I came.”

            “I can well see.”

            “Can I stay for a bit?”

            “Stay forever.”

            Merlin smiled.  “I cannot commit to forever, but . . . I closed my shop for the rest of the week.  I figured even if you didn’t want me to stay I could go on holiday.  I’ve got camping gear at my flat and my camera right here, so I can always take my holiday elsewhere . . . I haven’t left my shop in years – it’s about time.”

            “Stay,” repeated Arthur.

“You’ve got me for four days if you want me. Then I can see if I still think you’re a pompous rich wanker and you can see if you still want to keep your arms around me in the mornings.”

            “I will,” whispered Arthur.  “I don’t need four days to tell me that.”

            “All right.”

            “Let me give you the tour of the house.  Let’s start upstairs, with my room.”

______

            They didn’t make it to Arthur’s room.  In fact, they only made it halfway up the stairs before Arthur had undone Merlin’s jeans and began to bring him off with his hands.  Merlin didn’t want to go a moment without touching Arthur.  That invisible cord kept pulling them together.

            Arthur made them tea and they sat in the oversized kitchen chatting, asking three hundred questions – _what’s your favorite color, what’s your favorite book, what’s the funniest joke you’ve ever heard_ – and learning all they could.  Merlin looked through a script for a film Arthur was considering auditioning for.  Arthur looked through the scrapbook of photographs Merlin always kept in his camera bag.  Merlin found all about Arthur’s past – how his sister was born only eleven months before him, how his father owned a private jet that crashed on the way to a film festival which killed his mother and grandfather when he was three, how Morgana always looked out for him and picked up his pieces whenever he made a mess of himself, how Lance was his best mate and always would be, how he had his first sexual encounter with a girl when he was sixteen and then the first time with a man when he was twenty.  Arthur learned all about Merlin as well – how he had never met his father because his mother had never told him she was pregnant, how he’d first met Will when he was seven, how he’d won a spelling bee when he was nine, how he’d first come out to Gwen when he was sixteen and then to his mother several months later, how he’d left school the first chance he had so he could escape Ealdor, how he didn’t like television or most films because he preferred reading books, how he wanted to meet someone he could spend the rest of his life with.

            When they were hungry Arthur tried to cook food, but was clearly terrible at it, so Merlin stepped in and finished.  Morgana still hadn’t come home, which was fine because Merlin wanted time alone with Arthur, but he didn’t want to feel as though she wasn’t allowed to stay in her own house, even if it was just a temporary home.

            They left their dishes in the sink and went back upstairs, leaving their clothes in piles on the floor for the rest of the afternoon.  They napped under the warmth of Arthur’s blankets, their legs tangled together, their breath mingling.

            Morgana came home later, announcing that Lance had found a lovely girl at the pub and had taken her back to his hotel room at the Camelot Inn.  She giggled as she went to her room, three DVDs in her hand.  She winked at Merlin again before she left them alone.

            The next morning Arthur made tea and brought it upstairs along with his newspaper and laptop.  He sat in bed, the light blue of his bed sheets covering his middle as he leaned against the headboard, newspaper folded in his right hand.  His left hand held his tea, which was steaming in white curls above his cup.

            “Can I take your photo?” asked Merlin.

            Arthur looked up.  “Why?”

            “Because you’re beautiful,” answered Merlin. “Don’t be stupid.  You probably won’t even notice anything.  You get your photo taken all the time.”

            Arthur shook his head.  “No, I hate getting my photo taken so I never let anyone set up photo shoots.  Sometimes the producers insist for my films, but my contract limits photo shoots to only one per picture.”

            “I’m not going to give you a choice,” said Merlin, hopping off the bed and going over to his camera bag, which Arthur had brought upstairs the afternoon before.  He took out his camera and took off his lens cap.  He snapped several photos of Arthur before Arthur reached and grabbed the camera from him.

            “My turn,” said Arthur, grinning. 

            Merlin laughed as Arthur took his photograph; no one ever took his photo.  Arthur held the camera out and tried to get a photo of them both at the same time.

            “That will never work.”  Merlin took the camera and looked around Arthur’s bedroom.  He positioned the camera on the bedside table and set the timer.  “Come here.” He kissed Arthur through his smile and in the background the flash went off.

            “If those photos get out, I’ll—”

            “Never,” said Merlin, shaking his head.  “Never.”

            “You should publish them.  Not _those_ , but your other ones.”

            Merlin shrugged.  “I thought about it once.  There’s a publisher in London who wants to make a book about Camelot Heights, with my nature photos and the ones of the residents, but she wouldn’t let me put in any photos of the gay life here.  There’s not much, but there’s enough that I don’t think we should pretend it doesn’t exist.”

            “And you’d publish if this publisher would put in your pictures of boy love?”

            Merlin rolled his eyes and shrugged.

            “Do you want a section of the newspaper?” asked Arthur.

            “The cartoons,” replied Merlin.

            Arthur smirked.  “Of course.”  He flipped through the newspaper until he found the cartoons and handed them to Merlin.

            Merlin curled into Arthur’s side as he read.

            The rest of the day was just as lazy as the morning.  Arthur talked Merlin into watching television with him and even though Merlin didn’t like the telly, he didn’t mind so much watching it with Arthur.  Morgana went out and brought home dinner from a small Italian restaurant for them all to share.  Lance had asked to come over, but Morgana denied him, saying Arthur was ill; Lance had no idea about Merlin. 

            Morgana was crass and Merlin understood why Arthur called her a harpy.  But he really liked her and told her he thought she was rather divine.  After dinner Morgana went to her room to read, something that she apparently often did. 

            Merlin led Arthur upstairs by the hand, shutting the bedroom door behind them.

            “I’ve never had so much sex,” said Arthur.

            “Is that bad?”

            “No.  Absolutely not.”

            Merlin pulled Arthur’s shirt over his head.  “I had a thought,” began Merlin, looking intently at Arthur.  “But I don’t know if you’ll fancy the idea as much as I do.”

            “What is it?”

            “I rather wondered what you thought of the idea of me being the one on top.”

            Arthur hesitated and stilled Merlin’s hands as they tried to undo the buttons of his trousers.  “I don’t know.”

            “It’d be a change since I let you fuck me all day and all night yesterday – oh, and a little this morning as well.”

            “It’s not that.”  Arthur let go of Merlin and walked three steps backwards until the back of his knees hit his bed.  He sat down and let out a breath.

            “You seemed to like it when my fingers were in you.”

            “Yes,” replied Arthur slowly, color rising in his cheeks.

            “I’ve had plenty of practice,” joked Merlin.

            Arthur was quiet.

            “Forget it,” said Merlin.  “Another time.”  He crossed the room and stood in front of Arthur.  “I really only want to be close to you.  So we can do whatever you want; it’s fine.”

            “I’ve had anyone do that to me before.”

            “Never?”

            Arthur rolled his eyes.  “No, never.  Thanks for making me feel like a total moron.  Look, normally I see a bloke I fancy, I take him to my hotel room, fuck him, and then he leaves.  You’re the only man who’s ever spent the night with me, the only man I’ve _wanted_ and—”  Arthur choked on the words.  “You don’t really understand what it’s like to be me.  No one does.”

            “You have barely told me anything about yourself after the age of twenty-one.”

            “That’s when I was on the cover of my first magazine. My life is such an open book after that.”

            “Tell me,” said Merlin, “please.  I want to know what it’s like to be you.”  He sat down on the bed next to Arthur.

            Arthur sighed and nodded.  “I grew up as the son of Uther Pendragon.  My father kept Morgana and me really hidden.  We weren’t allowed to go to the premieres of any of his movies and even when we went to film festivals with him, we weren’t allowed out of the hotel room.  We grew up with nannies and private schools and all the luxuries, but my father would never talk about his work or who he was.  Then when I was at prep school, I auditioned for the spring play and I was given the lead.  They said I was very good, but my father didn’t want me to be an actor.  It didn’t matter because I had too much fun with it. So I kept acting and getting parts and then suddenly I became famous, _really_ famous.

            “When I’m in London and I leave the house, people follow me.  I haven’t eaten a meal at a restaurant in _years_ that someone hasn’t interrupted to ask me for an autograph or to shake my hand. I was at a shopping mall in America once and I was mobbed inside some clothing store and the police had to break it up.  I was told from the beginning that all encounters should be considered scandals and to have a contract ready for all my girlfriends, mistresses, or one-night lovers to sign so I can retain as much anonymity in my relationships as possible. I never know if people want to be my friend because they like me or because they like the idea of being friends with Arthur Pendragon.

            “Nothing is real in movies.  It’s all fake, which is just like the life of a celebrity. It’s all crap.  And I don’t talk about it much because I don’t really like it.”

            “Then why keep doing it?”

            “I don’t know.  I suppose I like the acting part.  I like being able to take a step back and look at my films and know they were good enough to move people, to really strike strong emotion.  But it makes life difficult as well, so when you bring up men and my history with men, well, it’s spotty at best.

            “I have to take my male lovers very seriously. I can’t keep them around because if it got out that I sometimes had affairs with men then my entire career could be lost.  I may not get hired for jobs again.”

            “But what about women?”

            “Well . . .” began Arthur slowly.  “I only take women as companions when I think they would make a good girlfriend.  I’ve got terrible taste in women, Sophia is proof of that.  She was horrible.  Narcissistic. Completely mad.  The thing with sex and me is that all these people want to go to bed with Arthur Pendragon, the celebrity, but they wake up with someone who more resembles that famous bloke, only with morning breath, bad hair, and crooked teeth.  I never look as good in the morning as I do when they go to bed with me.”

            “I thought you looked good this morning,” said Merlin.

            “That’s because you don’t give a shit about Arthur Pendragon.  You fancy me for me.”

            “What will you do with me once you’ve gone back to London?”

            Arthur shrugged.  “I don’t know, honestly.  I don’t want to think about that yet.”

            “That’s fine.  You don’t have to.”  Merlin tried to smile, but he was beginning to second-guess himself.  Friday would come around and he would go home; he would open his shop on Saturday morning and then what?  He certainly wasn’t – and probably would never be – Arthur Pendragon’s boyfriend.  So what was he?  A holiday shag?  A man to help pass the time?  An indulgence?  When Arthur went home to his flat in London or on location to film, would he pick other men to fuck? 

            “Merlin, I—”  Arthur paused.  Then he smiled.  “Never mind. You’re wearing far too many clothes. Let’s take care of that problem right now.”

______

            Later that night, when it was black outside, Merlin and Arthur got their jackets and went to the cliffs.  Arthur had a torch – a real one, not one from his mobile – and they used it on the ground, to keep from tripping over the roots of trees.

            “Listen,” whispered Merlin when they got to the rocks. “D’you hear that?  Isn’t it beautiful?”

            “What am I listening for?”

            “Just the waves.  It’s so natural.  _This_ is what real sound is.  You can’t get this in a film or on the television.  Nothing is as beautiful as real life.”

            Arthur reached for Merlin and pulled him close, burying in head in Merlin’s shoulder.  “You’re so real,” he said.

            Merlin sighed and leaned into Arthur.  “This is my favorite place.  What’s yours?”

            “Right now?  Anywhere you are.”

            Merlin couldn’t help but grin.  “You’re so cheesy.”

            “Sometimes, yes.”

            “I could never live in London.  I would always want to quit my job and come back out here, where it’s perfect.”

            “Yes, sometimes I feel that way, too.”

            “Why don’t you quit?  Or why don’t you do stage acting, get out of the media’s attention?”

            “I don’t know.”

            Merlin pulled away from Arthur.  He reached into his pocket and took out the newsboy cap. The torch was off, but the moon provided enough light for him to see.  It was scratchy in his hands and felt very, very heavy.  Merlin took a deep breath and tossed it, almost like Frisbee, off the side of the cliffs in front of him.

            “What are you doing?” asked Arthur.

            “Letting go.”

______

Friday morning came too quickly.  Merlin consented and let Arthur make breakfast, so they had oatmeal after Arthur burnt the last of the eggs.  Merlin took his with a little brown sugar and milk; Arthur had his plain.

            Morgana came into the kitchen, whistling a tune. She smiled and kissed her brother’s forehead before ruffling Merlin’s hair.

            “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?” asked Arthur.

            “Yes, I was.  I’m surprised you noticed.”

            “You didn’t come home last night?”

            Morgana shook her head.  “No, but I’m sure you were too busy having sex to notice my absence.”

            “That’s not true,” argued Arthur.

            It actually _wasn’t_ true, as they had played cards and drank so much the night before that they passed out fully clothed, but Arthur failed to mention that.

            “I met the most lovely man at this bar and I’ve been seeing him all week.  You probably know him, Merlin.  His name is Leon.”

            Merlin nearly choked on his oatmeal.  “ _Leon_? Huh.  He’s one of my best mates.  He owns the pub, Leon’s – well, obviously.”

            “Yes.  I quite fancy him.  I may stick around a bit after you leave, Arthur.  See what happens there.  You know how I hate the spotlight.  I think I’d rather be here, far away from people and cameras.  Although, I only get my picture taken when I’m around you, but still. . . .”

            Merlin glanced at Arthur, who had tensed.  He placed a hand on Arthur’s knee and felt him relax under his touch.  Morgana kept talking about Leon all through breakfast, stopping every once in a while to ask Merlin what he thought about him.  Merlin thought Leon was brilliant, but thought it was a bit odd having Arthur’s sister interested in his best mate – however, if his friends were happy, that’s all he really cared about.

            In the afternoon, Merlin gathered his things, kissed Arthur goodbye, and walked back through town towards his shop.  His feet felt light as he walked home, as though the pavement was really air.  He paused in front of his shop and turned right, going into the coffeehouse next door. Gwen was behind the counter, reading a magazine. 

            “You’re back!” she cried, a huge smile on her face.

            “Yes,” said Merlin.

            “Where’d you go?”

            “Just . . . you know . . .  How’ve you been?”

            Gwen blinked, looking slightly confused at the abrupt change of subject, but she grinned and blushed.  “I met this really, really cool guy at Leon’s the other night! It’s fantastic!  I’ve never met someone like him before.”

            All of a sudden Merlin was reminded of something Morgana had said.  “What’s his name?”

            “William Lance, but everyone calls him by his surname. He does personal security, but he’s on holiday right now.”

            “Where does he live?”

            “In London,” said Gwen with a sigh.  “But he’s still rather brilliant.  He leaves soon.  Are you all right?”

            “Yes!  Sorry. No, it’s brilliant, Gwen, honest. You deserve to be happy.  He better be a nice bloke, though, if he’s going to take you away from me.”

            Gwen laughed.  “No one can take you away from me!  Fancy a coffee?”

            “No, I’m all right.  I just wanted to say hello before going home.  I have some photos to develop and some things to do before opening shop tomorrow morning.  It’ll probably be a slow day, yeah?”

            Gwen sighed.  “It hasn’t been this slow in a while.  It’ll start being busy in another month, the few weeks right before Christmas.”

            “Christmas shoppers are the absolute worst,” said Merlin. “I just wanted to pop in and say hello. Let’s go grab a pint at Leon’s tomorrow night.”

            “Perfect,” agreed Gwen.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            Merlin left and went to his shop.  He went upstairs and immediately unpacked his things. He took his camera and used film and went to the darkroom he’d created out of the spare bedroom.  Developing his photographs always made him forget time. He could stay in there for hours, completely unaware of hunger or thirst, his problems pushed so far to the back of his mind they disappeared.

            From the other room, Merlin heard his mobile beep. He hung his photos on the line and left the room.  His phone was in his jacket pocket, hung over the arm of the settee.  There was a text message: _Open your door_.

            Merlin dropped the phone and dashed out the door and down the stairs.  He opened his shop door and stood in the doorway.  Arthur stood before him, wearing a hat and a pair of sunglasses.

            “You look like a burglar.”

            Arthur smirked.  “No one’s supposed to know I’m here.”

            “Come in,” said Merlin, and moved out of the way so Arthur could come inside his shop.  “What are you doing here?”  He shut the door.

            Arthur turned and faced Merlin.  He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Next he took off his glasses and tossed them on the closest shelf.  “I don’t know,” he answered, “but I was at the house with Morgana and I felt I should just be here . . . with you . . .”

            “Here with me?  Really?”

            “Yeah.  I’m going mad, aren’t I?”

            Merlin smiled and shook his head.  “No, no.  This is brilliant.  You came to see me.  I was just developing some photographs, would you like to see?”

            “Absolutely.”

            Merlin was halfway up the stairs when he heard his shop door open again.  He turned and saw Freya walk inside.

            “Sorry, sorry!” she cried, running in.  “I left my notes here last Saturday and I’ve got an exam on Monday morning and I _promised_ Mary I would study with her, only my notes are – oh, shit.”

            Freya’s eyes widened when she saw Arthur Pendragon standing on the stairs behind the counter, his fingers entwined with Merlin’s.

            Merlin immediately broke their hands apart and ran down the stairs.  “What are you doing here?”

            “I just said – my notes – and—”

            “You have _got_ to stop leaving your stuff here.  Where are they?”

            “Er, the counter, I suppose?”  Freya went to the cash register and began to rummage through the papers and receipts.  “Found them!”

            Merlin grabbed her arm and looked her straight in the eye.  “Freya, listen to me.  Do _not_ tell _anyone_ you saw Arthur here, all right?  I’m teaching him how to develop photographs, but really, no one is supposed to know he’s in town.”

            “All right.”

            “Seriously, Freya.  _Not.  A.  Word_.”

            “I said _all right_!”

            “See you tomorrow?  Noon?”

            “Yes, yes.”

            Freya all but fled the shop and Merlin locked the door behind her.  He shook his head and went to the stairs.

            “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

            “That’s all right.  Think she’ll tell anyone?”

            “She’s been fairly trustworthy so far.  She’s been in my employ for two years.”  Merlin shrugged.  “We don’t have to stay here at mine if you don’t want.  Your house is nicer and—”

            “I haven’t seen your flat in six months. It’ll be fine here.”

            Merlin took Arthur upstairs to his flat.  His dining table was still covered in photographs, his clean laundry folded at one end of the sofa, and a stack of CDs on the coffee table.  Arthur went to the table first, looking at the photographs.  Some were in color, others in black and white, all beautiful.

            “I have some of you,” said Merlin, “in my dark room.”

            “Let me see.”

______

            It was strange to have Arthur Pendragon in his flat.  Merlin was overly aware that his things were old or cheap and not up to the same standard Arthur was probably used to.  His dishes were chipped, his flatware mismatched, and he used the same mugs for milk or water as he did his tea.  Arthur didn’t mention any of this or seem to be bothered, but Merlin was still aware of how his flat must look.

            They developed pictures together, then went into the kitchen to make tea.  They laughed and kissed and spoke of nothing.  It grew dark outside and still Arthur stayed.  He took Merlin’s hand and took him into the bedroom, to a small bed with a duvet covered in patches.  Slowly he undressed Merlin, getting on his knees and taking Merlin into his mouth. Merlin threw his head back, breathing in deeply, and dug his fingers into Arthur’s hair.

            Arthur pulled away before Merlin could come, quickly standing and taking off his own clothes.  Taking Merlin’s hands, he sat them on the bed, covering his body with Merlin’s.  Arthur was hard underneath him and Merlin could feel the warmth of his body and the sweat of his skin.  They kissed, caressed.  Arthur flipped Merlin over onto his back, inserting one knee in between Merlin’s thighs.  He kissed the thin skin that stretched across Merlin’s collarbone and Merlin moaned in the back of his throat.  He traced Merlin’s ears with his fingertips, biting lightly on his earlobes.

            “Arthur,” he groaned.  “I want—”

            “Shh,” hummed Arthur.  “I want something, too.” 

            Merlin looked him in the eye and saw something there – a flicker, a moment, a sign.  “Are you sure?”

            Arthur nodded and turned.  Merlin was careful with him, loved his body the way he thought it should be loved, and when he was inside him, he felt surrounded and oddly complete, a feeling that he hadn’t experienced since Will.  He kissed Arthur as he came, that invisible cord pulling them together, and Merlin was beginning to wonder if the deep feelings he was setting in the pit of his stomach was a bit like love.

            Merlin woke later, in the middle of the night, to kisses across his shoulder blades.  He smiled and arched his back, pushing against Arthur.  He felt Arthur’s hand slowly go across his hip and then his palm was against Merlin’s stomach, massaging the skin there.  Then Arthur’s hand went lower, grasping Merlin and stroking him ever so slowly.

            Merlin pushed back again, still drunk on sleep, his eyes heavy.  Arthur stopped stroking Merlin and ran his hand along Merlin’s side, down his arm, until he grasped Merlin’s wrist.  He pulled their hands down until Merlin was touching himself. 

            They were both still on their sides and Merlin wanted to turn and look at Arthur, to see this new lover’s face, the look in his eye, but he was dizzy and his heart raced and he wanted to see where all this touching was going.  He felt Arthur’s hand cup his arse, squeezing the flesh there.  His lips were on Merlin’s shoulder, kissing the skin, sucking it in just enough to leave marks – as though branding him.  Then his fingers were inside Merlin, touching, pushing, searching for that place that sent sparks through Merlin’s insides, turning him on and making his whole body raring to go, as though his blood was suddenly like battery acid, fueling his desires.

            Then Arthur was inside him.  _Arthur_ was _inside_ him.  Their bodies connected, together.  Merlin felt stretched, but full.  He shut his eyes tight and continued to touch himself as Arthur pulled out and pushed himself back in, slowly fucking Merlin.  The sharpness of Arthur’s hips pressed into his back every time Arthur thrust.  It was slow and the way Arthur’s arms came around and held Merlin to his chest made this time somehow different.

            Arthur whispered things into Merlin’s ears, his breath hot and his words like poetry, even though they were choppy and incoherent. Arthur’s chest never lost contact with Merlin’s back and Merlin felt high off the contact.

            “Merlin,” whispered Arthur, “I – I—” but he didn’t finish, for he groaned and bit Merlin’s shoulder as he came.

            Merlin was close behind, coming into his own hand. As he came out of his post-orgasmic haze, he couldn’t help but think that, for the first time in a long, long time, he had felt exactly what making love felt like.  They fell asleep again, still sticky with come and sweat, but never moving away from one another.

            The next morning, Merlin’s alarm went off early so that Arthur could leave before the shop opened and any customers see him. Merlin walked him downstairs and paused at the door.  He unlocked his shop door and kissed Arthur as he opened it.  Flashes of light broke their connection and Merlin yelled in surprised.

            “What the hell!”  He slammed his shop door shut.  Arthur pushed him behind a shelf and dove after him.

            “Fuck!  Fuck me!” cried Arthur, looking panicked.  “Don’t you have any bloody curtains!”  His voice was loud and shaky.

            “I do.”

            “Then use them for fuck’s sake!”

            “Christ, all right!  Normally they’re shut at the end of the day, but Freya must’ve forgot the last time she closed up shop.”

            “I don’t _care_ , just shut the bloody curtains!”

            Merlin peered around the side of the shelf.  He could see tens, perhaps hundreds, of people outside, camera lights flashing, people shouting, Arthur Pendragon’s name spoken over and over again.  Merlin got on his knees, crouching down, and counted to three.  He jumped and ran to his windows, pulling the shades down over the glass. 

            “Fuck!” Arthur cried again.  He took his mobile out of his pocket and began tapping it. He put it to his ear.  “Lance!  Shit, mate, I’ve got a huge fucking problem . . . no, no, I’m at that photograph shop – yeah, that one . . . I need you to get me out of here, the paparazzi are outside . . . no, swarms of them . . . call me when you get here . . . yeah, I need a car – NOW!  Thanks, mate . . . yeah, yeah, all right . . . fifteen minutes, fantastic.”  Arthur dropped his phone on the floor.

            Merlin reached for him, but Arthur pulled away.

            “Arthur,” said Merlin slowly, “I’m so sorry.  Freya must have said—”

            “She probably went and gossiped to her stupid friends and now I’m dealing with this bullshit – which is exactly what it is. Bullshit.  Those photos they all took – of us kissing – will be all over the internet and the newspapers and magazines.  It’ll be on the news.  I won’t be able to deny that it happened – _they have our photos_.”

            “I’m so sorry,” said Merlin.  “Next week it’ll blow over.  It’s all fake, remember?  The fame thing doesn’t really exist.  You’re still just a boy, just a person, no different than me.”

            “NO!” snapped Arthur.  “I am very different from you.  In ten years, when someone Googles my name, they’ll see these photos and read these articles that people are writing right now outside your bloody shop. Directors aren’t going to want to cast me in their films as a straight man.  I’ll be typecast from now on, if I can even get a part.  This could ruin my entire career.”

            “You can’t be thinking like that—”

            “What do you know?  People will still buy photos from you whether you’re gay or straight, they don’t care.  People care about me, about who I am.  You’re nobody now and you’ll be nobody when I’m gone, but me?  I’m Arthur Pendragon and this will follow me around for the rest of my life.”

            Merlin felt slapped in the face by Arthur’s words. “I’m sorry sleeping with me is something you so wholeheartedly regret,” he bit out.

            “Yeah, right,” snapped Arthur.  “This should never have happened.  I knew it would only end in shit.”

            Merlin sat back, as though having been pushed backwards by an invisible force.  He looked at Arthur, for the first time seeing a completely different person than he’d ever seen before.  This side of Arthur was nasty and ugly.

            “Well,” said Merlin, his eyes burning, “I will try to look upon this last week with fonder memories, if you don’t mind.”

            Arthur opened his mouth as though to say something, but immediately closed it and looked away.  They sat in silence until Arthur’s phone rang.  Arthur looked around the corner of the shelf and when he saw Lance, he got up and ran to the door and was ushered through the crowd, leaving Merlin behind alone.

______

            Merlin kept the shop closed over the weekend; the paparazzi still hung around Hill Street for the next couple of days.  He sat on his sofa, feeling thoroughly depressed, allowing Gwen to console him with tea and vodka.  He told her everything, even the details she probably didn’t want to hear, but he couldn’t stop the flood of words that escaped.

            Every few days, another reporter stopped by to ask for him, to ask how he spelled his name, what it was like to kiss the most famous actor in the world.  Merlin always asked them to leave and immediately locked the door behind them. Gwen had asked their mates not to ask him any questions, but he knew they were dying of curiosity. 

            Once the reporters had cleared, Freya came into the shop, her eyes full of tears.  She threw her arms around Merlin and begged for forgiveness.

            “I just told _one_ of my friends he was here and she _promised_ not to tell anyone, but she told her mum and her mum’s a reporter for the newspaper and then it just got leaked to everyone in town and then I suppose people from London came – drove all night I suppose to get here.  And, oh, _Merlin_ , I’m so sorry.”

            Merlin gently pushed Freya away from him.  “It’s all right,” he replied.  “Well, actually, no, it’s not, but I forgive you anyway. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

            “Oh, I didn’t!  I really didn’t!  I promise! Please, can I keep my job?”

            “What?”

            “I want to keep my job.  I really love my job – well, all right, I don’t _love_ it, but I think you’re a brilliant boss and—”

            “Freya, shut it.  You can keep your job, just never mention what happened.”

            Freya nodded.  “Yes, yes, I promise!”

            “Don’t promise anything you can’t keep.  Get back to school.”

            Freya nodded again, hugged him once more, and fled the shop.

            The days went on and Merlin refused to read the newspapers or the magazines.  He didn’t know what the articles said, but he was scared to see what Arthur had to say whenever he released his formal statement.  His phone never rang and the only emails he got were still from his mother, uncle, and the publisher from London.  It was as though Arthur Pendragon had never existed in Merlin’s life; he was like a ghost, a dream that once existed but was now a foggy memory.

            Gwen came by his flat one night, two weeks after Arthur had left.  She turned off Merlin’s music, took the book out of his hand, and handed him a stack of magazines and newspaper clippings.

            “What the hell is this?” asked Merlin, staring at his lap.

            “It’s magazine articles and newspaper articles about the – the – you know – the thing that happened.  And I really think you should read everything that’s happened with Arthur.”

            “No.”

            “Merlin!  It would be good for you.”

            Merlin shook his head.  “No way.  Not now. I don’t want to know what he’s been saying about me.  I don’t want to ever think about him again.  In fact, from this day on, I am never going to think about Arthur Pendragon again.”

            Gwen looked a little sad, but she just nodded and sighed.  “I’m going to put these in your desk drawer, because one day you’ll want to read through all this.”

            Merlin doubted it, but he allowed Gwen to stash all her printed stories in his desk drawer anyway.

______

            Three months later, Merlin walked into Gwen’s coffee shop.  It was February, but after Valentine’s Day, so the crowds were light again.  The shop only had two students from the public school there, studying for an exam.  Merlin ordered espresso from Gwen and drank it in one gulp after it had cooled down a bit.

            “I think I need to get laid,” he said.

            Gwen raised her eyebrows.  “Excuse me?”

            “I think that would help me get over him.  I mean, I’ve never felt so pathetic in my life. I was with him for only a few days and the sex wasn’t even that phenomenal.”

            Gwen smiled sadly and Merlin knew she didn’t believe him.  “You want me to set you up on dates with some lovely birds?  Because I’m afraid that’s all you get around here.”

            Merlin groaned in frustration.  “There are never any good men here.”

            “I heard the new librarian is gay.”

            “A librarian?  Oh, god.  We have a library?”

            Gwen laughed.  “Yes, you know we do.”

            “I don’t think I’ve ever been in it.”

            “Well, I _think_ he’s gay, though I cannot be sure.  And Gwaine just employed a new worker who he says has been on the pull for days for a bloke.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “You would’ve known about this, but you’ve been so preoccupied with your misery.”

            Merlin frowned.  “Tell me I haven’t been that bad?”

            “You have, but I forgive you.”

            “Thanks, Gwen.  I couldn’t live without you.”

            “I know.”

            “I think . . .”  Merlin sighed.  “I think I’ve been really closed-off after Will.  It was all too much and I didn’t want to lose someone again and I finally gave in to Arthur.  I should’ve known better, but I let myself go – and he took me and I let him.”

            Gwen reached over the counter and placed her hand against Merlin’s cheek.  “You’re so good, really.  You deserve to be happy.”

            “If I ask you something, do you promise to tell the truth?”

            “No, those jeans don’t make your arse look big.”

            Merlin laughed – it felt so good to laugh.  “No, no.  I wanted to know . . . I wanted to know what Arthur said after all the pictures and the articles came out.”

            “He’s never said anything to the media.”

            “What?  He must’ve released some sort of statement, his publicist—”

            “No,” answered Gwen, shaking her head. “There’s never been a statement. Believe me, I read everything I could about it.  Normally all his press releases are posted on his personal website, but even that hasn’t been updated except to say he’s filming in Australia for the next two months. He hasn’t mentioned anything about you and whenever someone asks him in an interview, he refuses to comment.”

            “Seriously?  It’s like he’s in full denial.”

            Gwen cleared her throat.  “Maybe.  Or . . . well, perhaps he hasn’t said anything as his way of _not_ denying it.”

            “Er, I doubt that.”

            Gwen shrugged.  “Think what you like.  You still have all those magazines I left for you in your desk drawer if you want to read them.  Or did you throw them all out?”

            “No, they’re still there.”

            “They can better answer what Arthur’s been up to than I can, I think.”

            Merlin shook his head.  “Anyway.  About those dates?”

______

            Merlin went on four blind dates in a row.  The first was with the librarian who ended up being just as boring as he’d feared.  The man could barely hold a conversation about anything other than books, which seemed so typical of a librarian.  Merlin tried to talk of films or art or music, but the librarian didn’t seem to have anything to say. 

            The second date was with the bloke from Gwaine’s store.  He was funny and interesting, but kept trying to touch Merlin during dinner and even suggested they go to the loo to have it off.  In his younger days, Merlin might have found it exhilarating, but now he just found it offensive.  He was too old – and perhaps even too boring – to be having random sex in the public toilets.

            The third date was several weeks after the second and with a barista Gwen had hired to replace one of the college students who had just quit when his parents moved away from Camelot Heights to go to London. The new barista was young, only nineteen, and completely embarrassed the entire dinner.  Merlin had no idea what the boy’s problem was until he let it slip – this was his first date with a man.  Not wanting to be the type of guy who took another bloke’s virginity, Merlin paid the tab at Leon’s and left, calling Gwen immediately to yell at her and then laugh together.

            The fourth date was with a tourist, but not just any tourist, a medical doctor who owned a home in Camelot Heights that he used for weekends and the summer holidays.  Merlin wasn’t sure how Gwen found out he was single or even gay, but either way, it didn’t matter.  The doctor was funny, handsome, and refused to let Merlin pay for dinner.  All in all, he was perfect.  He listened to Sinatra and Dean Martin.  He only used his television for world news reports.  He hated football and rugby, but enjoyed cricket as long as he was playing and not watching.  He was terrible at poker and brilliant at kissing.  He invited Merlin to London to visit and introduced him to his friends, most of which were in the medical field.  He asked Merlin to invite him to the poker games at Gwaine’s house. 

            It lasted about a month before Merlin broke things off.  He just couldn’t keep pretending that everything was all right.  There was no reason why this man was not perfect for Merlin, except he just wasn’t Arthur and as much as Merlin _hated_ himself for it, there was still a part of him that wanted Arthur to come back into his life.

            Merlin threw himself into his work.  He had Gwen help him design a website for his photographs as well to advertise services such as weddings or family portraits. The busier Merlin was, the better he felt.  He stopped going on dates, but he didn’t feel the need to.  He felt content spending time with his mates, listening to Gwen gush about her long-distance love life with Lance, and taking photographs.  She and Leon decided to take a trip to London, but Merlin declined and wished them fun.  Instead he got the task of “watching after” both the coffeehouse and the pub while they were gone.

            When Easter rolled around, Gwen came wandering into his shop, looking more closely at the photos than ever before.  “So, Merlin,” she said, “I have this idea. . . .”

            “You’re making me nervous.  What idea?”

            “I thought I might steal some of your photos and put them in my coffee shop!  Some photos of the sea and some of my baristas.  I thought it would add a touch of _something_ to my place, what do you think?”

            Merlin shrugged.  “Sure, that seems all right.”

            “I would credit you, of course.”

            “Of course.”

            “So if you don’t mind?  Are there any other photos in your flat I could take?”

            “You’re free to look.  The door’s unlocked.”

            “Thanks!”

            Merlin watched his friend go up the stairs.  It was kind of nice having Gwen interested in his photos like that; it made him smile. 

            Easter turned to spring very quickly and brought an influx of vacationers along with it.  Merlin and Freya were extremely busy almost every day of the week.  They’d sold out of all the beach photos in nearly two days and Merlin hadn’t received his new shipment of dark room supplies in the post yet.  For the first time, he began to feel really stressed about the amounts of customers he had!

            Gwen urged him to take a break and come along to London with her when we went again on a small, personal holiday.  Merlin declined, as he did every time, and agreed to watch her coffee shop for her instead. 

            Right in the middle of summer, Leon came into his shop before close one night, looking around at his photos.

            “Mate?” said Merlin.  “What you doing?”

            “Oh, I was wondering if you had any photos of my pub.  I saw what Gwen did with your pictures and I wanted to do the same.”

            “Er, there’s a few down here, I think.  There are loads upstairs.  You can help yourself.”

            “Oh, right, thanks, mate.”

            Merlin nodded.  “Sure.”  He watched his mate go up the stairs to his flat.  He thought it was peculiar for Leon to want his photographs, but he wasn’t about to argue against free publicity either.  At about the same time Leon showed a sudden interest in his work, Gwen made a sudden announcement herself.

            “I think I want to get married,” said Gwen one Monday over tea.

            Merlin nearly choked on his drink.  “Are you serious?”

            “I am, I do.”

            “To Lance?”

            Gwen shrugged.  “One day, yes.  Absolutely.”

            “You’re so mad, but that’s all right.  I love you anyway.”

            “I just know that I love him, you know?  I know he loves me too, even though it hasn’t been very long.  We’ll wait, of course, but I just _know_.”

            “That’s lovely, then,” said Merlin.  “I’m really happy for you.”

            “He talks about Arthur, you know.”

            Merlin shook his head.  “I don’t want to know.”

            “Lance says Arthur is—”

            “Please don’t.  Arthur has had the chance to call, but he hasn’t.  It’s been months, just like the first time – only difference is that we fucked and made promises and then he said I was nothing but a regret.”

            “He was stressed – there were reporters—”

            “Gwen, don’t.”

            “He’s filming in Eastminster again.”

            “He’s what?”

            “Filming in Eastminster.  Lance told me and he said if you wanted, he’d get you on the set so you could see—”

            “No, I don’t think so.”

            “Merlin, listen—”

            “No.”

            Gwen smiled sadly, but nodded and stopped talking. They didn’t speak of Arthur again and the year continued.  The summer was busy and Merlin made more money in three months than he had in the whole of the previous year.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the money, but he thought perhaps of traveling abroad or the rest of Europe; he’d never been outside of England before. He bought a new backpack and several pieces of camping gear along with tickets to France, where he’d start his journey after the new year.  October came and went and it was a full year without Arthur Pendragon.  Merlin felt stronger for it.

            On Christmas Eve, Gwen closed her coffeehouse and put a sign on the front door: **CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.  WILL REOPEN 2 JANUARY**.  She had her bags packed and waited at her house for Merlin to come over so they could ride the train to Ealdor together.

            Merlin had his bags by the front door.  He had packed everything he needed to leave straight from his mother’s house to France.  He looked around his shop.  It was the perfect shop, small, cluttered, full of photographed memories.  Merlin breathed in the scent and sighed.  He was going to miss this place over the next couple months while he traveled.  But he knew he’d come back with so many new photographs to develop and sell, new memories and stories to tell.  This was a good thing and he was actually excited to go.

            There was a knock on his shop door and he thought it was Gwen, too anxious to wait for him at her house.  He opened the shop door and stopped, frozen completely in shock. 

            In the doorway, stood Arthur Pendragon.  His hair was longer, but still the same blonde. He looked a little thinner, but still sculpted and as handsome as ever.  He had a package wrapped in brown paper in one hand and an umbrella, used to keep off the falling snow, in the other.

            “Hello,” said Arthur.  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.  I thought about calling, but I didn’t want you to hang up on me.”

            “So you risked me shutting the door in your face instead?”

            Arthur faltered and swallowed.  “If you want me to leave, I can, but . . . I’d really like to come in.”

            Merlin moved out of the doorway and let Arthur enter his shop.  He put his umbrella and the package down next to the door.

            “Those are a lot of bags.”

            “I’m going home to see my mum and then I’m leaving for two months, travel around the rest of Europe.”

            “Oh.  You’ll love it.”

            “I know.”  Merlin stood in the middle of his shop and crossed his arms, waiting for whatever Arthur had to say.

            “I was a complete arse.”  Arthur cleared his throat.  “And I came to apologize.  There is so much I need to say, but I don’t really know how to say it.  I’m really very sorry for everything I said and then for not calling.”

            “For over a year,” said Merlin.  “I can’t even begin – over a _year_.  I really don’t know why you’re here.”

            Arthur shrugged.  “I was always really scared to come out and to let everyone know I fancied men more than women.  I was scared of how my father would react and my fans and scared I wouldn’t get parts anymore.”

            “I heard you’ve been filming in Eastminster, so you can’t really be hurting for parts, can you?”

            Arthur looked embarrassed.  “They’re not the same sort of parts I’m used to.  No more romantic male leads.”  He laughed bitterly.  “My father has completely cut me out of his life.  He released a statement saying he was retiring from directing and then the next day he told me never to call him again.  He’s always invested himself into ‘family values’ as he calls it, but I suppose he knew he wouldn’t be able to be successful if people refused to go see his films because he disowned his gay son.”

            Merlin felt badly for Arthur and could feel a rush of sympathy fill his heart.  He took in a deep breath and pushed all those feelings away; he needed to stand strong, like a wall.

            “So all these bad things happened to me. Morgana is still there, of course, and Lance – he’s my best mate, I can’t imagine him going anywhere, honestly. All these things happened this last year and I never stopped thinking about you.  The more time went by, the more I knew I was ruining something extraordinary, but I couldn’t pick up the phone.  I had acted so poorly—”

            “You did.  You were horrible.  Look, Arthur, the thing is, you’re a celebrity, and I’m just an ordinary man. You live in front of the camera, I live behind it.  You’re used to living in a six-bedroom house and I just have my tiny flat above my little shop where I sell photographs that people use as postcards.  You’re _on_ the telly and I don’t even own one.  We’re from two completely different worlds.”

            “You said yourself that it’s all fake—”

            “And you corrected me,” said Merlin.  “I’m still the completely ordinary Merlin Emrys, and you’re still the same famous Arthur Pendragon.”

            “I’m still just a bloke!” cried Arthur.  “I’m still just an ordinary man myself . . . standing in front of another ordinary man, asking to be forgiven – asking if there’s any chance to be loved again.”

            Merlin felt his eyes burned.  He’d dreamed of a moment like this, fantasized about it for so long – but no.  This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.  He was supposed to take his train ticket and see his mum before leaving on his travels.  He was supposed to lose himself in photographs of France and Austria and perhaps even find himself again along the way.  He wasn’t supposed to be listening to apologies from the man who broke his heart. It was too hard; he didn’t want to go through it again.  His heart had been ripped in two when Will had left him, but a year ago Arthur had reopened the same wound again, and Merlin had just finished stitching himself back together again.

            “No,” replied Merlin firmly.  “I can’t.  I don’t think so.”

            “No?”  Arthurpressed the palms of his hands into his eyes and took a staggering breath.  “Is there anything I can do?”

            “No,” said Merlin again.

            Arthur nodded.  “Right, then.  I should go. I should – well.  Happy Christmas.”  He picked up his umbrella and opened the shop door.

            “Wait,” said Merlin.

            Arthur turned, a hopeful look on his face.

            “You forgot your package.”

            “That’s for you.  Happy Christmas.”  Arthur turned around and left the shop, going back out into the snow.

______

**_Dear Merlin,_ **

**_I talked to a publisher who loved your photographs and was more than willing to put all of them in a book, including the ones of gay couples.  He wanted to title the book Love in Camelot Heights.  I gave him the photos of yours I had stolen the last time I was in your flat. Your friend Gwen also helped by taking others for me to have.  She gave them to Lance when he came to visit her, who passed them along to me.  Leon also did the same and gave them to Morgana when he came to see her in London.  This is a mock-up of the book I helped prepare.  There are blanks next to most of the photographs for you to fill in any commentary.  Despite everything I said and did, you still deserve the best._ **

**_Love from,_ **

**_Arthur_ **

 

            Gwen looked up from the letter.  “Er,” she said.

            “I could bloody well kill you and not even feel guilty about it.”  Merlin flopped down on Gwen’s sofa.  “This is a disaster.  Complete and utter.”

            “Don’t be so dramatic.”  Gwen grabbed her purse, which was sitting on a small table next to her sofa, and began rummaging around inside.  She pulled out her mobile and began to tap the keys with her thumbs. “I think we need backup at the moment.”

            “Backup?  For what?”

            “Would you like a beer?”

            “Again, backup for what exactly?”

            Gwen gave Merlin a pointed look, as though he should know _exactly_ what she was on about. He had no idea and felt dumber because of it.

            “Alcohol is fine.  Are we going to miss our train home?”

            “There’s another one at nine if we do.”

            “Brilliant,” muttered Merlin.  He sighed loudly, groaned, and then sighed again; he was certain his sound effects were driving Gwen mad, but they were completely involuntary. 

            Gwen disappeared into the kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer.  She sat down on the other end of the sofa and drank from her bottle.  She looked deep in thought.

            “D’you want to hear my story?” asked Merlin.

            “No, I can only imagine what you said since you’re here with me and not off shagging Arthur Pendragon.  Was he still as beautiful as always?”

            “Of course he was,” snapped Merlin, “you don’t grow ugly over the course of a year.  He looked rather tired, I suppose, but serves him right.  What an arse.”

            “And he asked you to take him back.”

            Merlin nodded and sighed again.  “I almost did, but then I remembered that I needed to have self-control and self-discipline and self-esteem and whatever else and I said no and sent him on his way.”

            “Oh,” said Gwen.  “Right.”

            It didn’t take long for the doorbell to ring. Gwen jumped up and answered the door. Merlin watched their mates come in – Leon, Gwaine, Elaina, and Rhys, Gwaine’s brother. 

            “We were all at the pub,” explained Leon. “Actually we were the _only_ ones at the pub.”

            They all sat around the living room, looking expectantly at Gwen.

            “Emergency?” asked Rhys.

            “Yes.  Tell them, Merlin,” demanded Gwen.

            “Tell them what exactly?”

            “Oh!” cried Gwen, frustration laced in her voice. She picked up the mock-up of the photography book and handed it to Rhys.  Rhys scanned the letter inside then flipped through the book, his eyes narrowing, his head nodding in approval.  When he finished he passed the book on to Elaina.

            “Arthur came back to town to see Merlin,” said Gwen. “He gave him that book, which he helped – actually, you lot know all about the book, but that’s _the_ book.”

            “Everyone knew about that?” cried Merlin, outraged.

            Gwen kept talking, ignoring Merlin.  “He asked him to take him back and apologized for being an arse.”

            “Did he really?” Rhys asked, his eyebrows raised. “Impressive.  He didn’t strike me as the type of bloke to apologize.”

            “A year later!” yelled Merlin.  “He came back over a _year_ later to apologize.  That’s bollocks, isn’t it?”

            “I suppose,” said Elaina, “but loads has happened to him over the year.  He was dropped from two films, you know, but they said it was due to budget cuts because Arthur gets almost twenty million per picture these days.  But we don’t know if that’s the truth or not.  I reckon it’s crap because of the timing and that the projects were given to another high-profile actor instead.”

            “Then there was his father,” said Gwaine, “and how he released a statement to the media about how he does not condone his son’s behavior.  It was very—”

            “How the bloody hell d’you lot know so much about Arthur Pendragon?”

            “We’ve got television at our flats,” answered Elaina.

            “I read _Hello!_ ” said Gwaine.  He shrugged, completely unembarrassed.

            “So what exactly did he say?” asked Leon, taking the book from Gwaine and looking at it.

            “Well, he said more or less what you lot just said. Plus he said that, you know, fame is crap and an illusion, and I told him all the reasons why we wouldn’t work – namely because he’s famous and I’m just ordinary.  Then he said . . . well, he said underneath the fame bit he was just an ordinary boy . . . standing in front of another ordinary boy . . . asking for forgiveness and love . . .” 

            Everyone exchanged looks, but Merlin couldn’t tell exactly what they were thinking.  Leon looked at the book in his hand and then handed it over to Merlin.

            “Did you look at this?”

            “No.  Just the cover.”

            “You should probably give that a look.  Most of the pages have blank boxes for your commentary – or so the letter from Arthur says – but he’s filled in one or two of the boxes himself.”

            Merlin looked at the book.  The cover read **_Love in Camelot Heights_**.  He rolled his eyes; he thought it was unbelievably corny, but perhaps bullshit sold books.  Immediately he understood why it was titled the way it was.  All the photos were in black and white, even though originally Merlin knew some had been in color.  They were of all the wonderful places in town and of many of the residents.  Everyone was smiling, happy, and even if they weren’t in a couple, they loved their village, the evidence apparent in their eyes.  The photos of Will were inside, too, along with the ones of Merlin and Will’s hands entwined together, their hairy legs tangled.  Merlin felt an odd tug on his heart at the memory of those photos.

            Then on the very last page was a photo of Merlin and Arthur.  It was the one Merlin had taken when he set his camera on the timer; they were in Arthur’s bed, smiling, their lips almost touching.  The photograph was beautiful, their eyes crisp and clear, the bed sheets blurry in the background.  Underneath the photo was written one word: **TRUE.**

            Suddenly, Merlin felt very, very ill.

            “Oh, bollocks,” breathed Merlin, “I’ve made the wrong decision, haven’t I?”

            Everyone exchanged glances again in silence.

            “Well . . .” began Leon.

            “I mean . . .” started Rhys.

            “I think . . .” muttered Elaina.

            “ _Yes_!” said Gwaine.  “You daft git!”

            Merlin continued to look at the photograph of him and Arthur.  “What do I do?”

            “Call him,” said Gwen.

            “I don’t have his mobile number.  Why would I keep it after all this time?”

            “I can get it,” said Gwen.

            “Me too,” Leon chimed-in.  “You call Lance, I’ll call Morgana, and we’ll see what we can do.”

            Merlin heard them both talking on their phones in the background, but their voices sounded very, very far away.  He kept looking at the photo as though his eyes were glued to it.  His heart felt like it was in his throat and his stomach in a thousand knots.

            “Lance said Arthur left the hotel without telling anyone and he’s left his mobile behind,” said Gwen, looking upset.

            “Morgana said he’s not at his flat and she had no idea he was going to come to Camelot Heights tonight.  She’s got no clue to where he is,” said Leon with a shrug.

            “What d’we do we now?” asked Gwen.  “Oh, wait – Lance just sent me a text.”  She looked down at her phone, her eyebrows furrowing. “He said there’s a press conference and so wherever Arthur is now, he’ll be at the press conference for sure.”

            “Where?  When?” asked Merlin.  He stood and held the book tightly in his hand.

            “In London.”

            “Gwaine, I need to borrow your car.”

            “You know, the last time you borrowed my car you promised to clean my house, but it didn’t end up very clean.”

            “You can borrow mine,” said Leon.  “Oh, but it isn’t an automatic and you’re a complete girl behind the wheel, aren’t you?”

            Gwen covered Merlin’s mouth with her hand. “You can drive,” she said.  “But the press conference isn’t until the day after tomorrow.  You’ve still got to get through Christmas before you can traipse off to London.”

            “I can’t go home,” said Merlin.  “Maybe I’ll just go to London so at least I’m there. What a pair we are: First Arthur fucks it all up and then I do.”

            “No, don’t think like that,” said Gwen consolingly. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing.  Do you truly want him back?”

            “There’s never been anyone else, this whole last year,” answered Merlin honestly.  “I would never have admitted it to anyone, but . . . it’s true.”

            “We can stay at Morgana’s flat,” announced Leon. “Don’t look at me like that, she just sent me a text.”

            Merlin frowned.

            “I could use an excuse to pop into the city,” said Leon.

            “You mean pop into Morgana, more like,” said Merlin.

            “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” replied Leon.  He grabbed his coat and scarf from where he’d taken them off and thrown them across the coffee table.  “I’ll be at my pub.  My car holds five people, including myself.  I’ll see you in thirty minutes.  It may be a two hour train ride to London, but it’s a hell of a lot longer by car.”

            “Why don’t you just take the train?” asked Gwaine.

            “Last train to London left about” – Gwen looked at her watch – “ten minutes ago.  There’s only two London trains.  One at eleven and one at four.  Now, who’s going to London?”

______

            Merlin and Gwen told their parents they’d missed the train and would do their best to be there soon.  The train didn’t run through Camelot Heights on Christmas Day, so they at least had until the twenty-sixth to figure out how to go home.  Leon didn’t have any family, so he was more than pleased to spend the holiday with Morgana.

            The car ride was excruciating.  Merlin said in the back seat.  The heat barely worked so he spent the whole ride curled up in a ball, his forehead against the window, looking at the passing trees.  He tried to clear his mind, but he kept running scenarios over and over again in his head, worried that he had ruined things completely and that Arthur would realize that they were crap together and this entire trip would be for naught.  When he voiced this, Gwen told him to shut up and start thinking positively, but Merlin remained a skeptic.  Leon ignored them both and played his heavy metal music, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel to the bass.

            When they got to London it was officially Christmas Day.  Merlin took his bags out of the boot of the car and stumbled up to the front door of Morgana’s flat.  His vision was blearily from lack of sleep and he only vaguely remembered being shown into the guestroom before passing out on the bed.

Morgana’s flat was large and beautiful.  Everything was clean and organized, in perfect order. She must have spent a fortune on decorators, for the fabrics in her furniture matched the window dressings and the wall colors.  Her flat had two floors; the first had the living room, dining room, kitchen, and master bedroom, and upstairs had two spare bedrooms and a media room where Morgana had her computer and television.

Merlin blinked against the light that filtered in through the open curtains.  He sat up and looked around.  He had had enough sense about him the night before to at least take off his shoes and socks, but he was still in jeans and a jumper.  There was a bathroom connected to his bedroom, so Merlin slipped in there, searched for towels and soaps, and took a long, hot shower.

            Once he was dressed again, he went downstairs. He heard voices from the bottom of the staircase and saw Morgana and Leon sitting on the sofa, in front of a very large Christmas tree.

            “Good morning!” said Morgana, far too cheerfully.

            “Thanks for letting me stay,” said Merlin, feeling very gracious – and very tired.

            Morgana smiled.  “You’re always welcome here, Gorgeous.”

            Merlin flushed.

            “Come sit.”  She motioned towards an overstuffed armchair in the room.  “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

            Merlin nodded as he sat.  He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes as Morgana disappeared and then reappeared moments later with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand.

            “Here,” she said, handing Merlin the cup.  She sat back down next to Leon.  “Happy Christmas.”

            “Oh my god,” said Merlin, “it’s Christmas. Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your family?”

            Morgana shrugged.  “My mum’s dead and my dad disowned me the same time he disowned Arthur.”

            “Why?”

            Morgana smiled sweetly.  “Don’t you watch television?”

            “Actually,” cut-in Leon, “he doesn’t own a telly.  In fact, he doesn’t use the internet either except to email his mum.”

            Morgana’s eyes widened.  “ _Really_?  I think Arthur mentioned that but I thought he was exaggerating!”

            “No,” said Merlin.  “Definitely not.”

            “Well in that case . . .  Uther Pendragon is a movie director, you know that, yeah? He’s built an empire.  It’s amazing, actually.  He owns studios and production companies in London, New York, and Los Angeles.  He controls the cost of half the industry.  When Arthur was photographed kissing you last year, our father went mad. He’s always been a firm believer in family and family values and being an example to all people, but more so because he feels that anyone in the public eye should be a role model.”

            “Sounds like complete bollocks,” joked Leon.  “Sounds like he’d lead a right boring life.”

            “He did, for the most part,” agreed Morgana. “Anyway, he quit directing, but he’s still producing and working out deals for other companies to use his studios. He released a statement that condemned Arthur’s behavior.  He never _officially_ said it, but he cut Arthur out completely and when I said I always stand behind Arthur, he cut me out as well.  I don’t have any other family to spend Christmas with. Arthur was going to come over here last night, but he’s missing.”

            “Maybe he’ll show up later today,” said Leon. 

            Morgana shrugged.  “I hope so.  I would’ve guessed that he’s hiding in his flat, but Lance was there last night and it was empty.  I’ll get him to go over there again later today if Arthur doesn’t stop by here first.”

            “Has Gwen been down yet?” asked Merlin.

            “Ha,” laughed Leon.  “She and Lance have been upstairs all—”

            “Never mind,” said Merlin, really not wanting to know. “When did Lance come by?”

            “Last night just after you went to bed,” replied Leon.  “He’ll be in and out of the house all day to check and see if Arthur’s been home yet.”

            “I have something to show you,” said Morgana, changing the subject and getting up.  “Wait here.”  She turned and ran quickly up the stairs.

            “I dunno why she keeps calling _me_ Gorgeous,” said Merlin, “because she’s bloody fantastic-looking, isn’t she?”

            Leon nodded.  “Mad, isn’t it?  Normally girls that good-looking only fancy me when they’re pissed out of their skulls.”

 

            “Got it!” cried Morgana from top of the stairs. She came back down, not as quickly as she went up, carrying a large box in her arms.  She sat the box down on her coffee table, kneeling down and taking off the lid.  Inside were stacks of papers and magazines, all organized and tied off with ribbon. “I’ve organized everything by year and everything stays in chronological order.  Arthur thinks I’m mad, but one day he’ll want to show his kids or someone the life he once led.”

            “What is that?” asked Merlin, nodding towards the box.

            “All the media stories over the years about Arthur – and myself and our father.  There’s personal photographs in here as well, of course.  It was a project I started on long ago.”  Morgana took out a small stack of magazines and newspapers so old the paper was turning yellow.  She untied the blue ribbon around them and sat on the arm of Merlin’s chair.  “This is my mother.”

            Merlin took the magazine, looking at the page that Morgana had opened to.  A very beautiful woman smiled from the glossy page; her hair was as dark as Morgana’s, but her nose and chin were the same as Arthur’s.

            “We didn’t have any photos of her after she died, our father got rid of them all.  Once Arthur started acting, I started collecting photos of him, too, just in case . . . I didn’t want Arthur to ever leave anyone wondering what he looked like, the way our mother left us.”

            Merlin felt a sudden sadness.  He had no idea what his father looked like, not even one photo, so he could only imagine the joy he’d feel getting to see a magazine with his mother inside if he’d never seen it before.  The picture was part of a four-page spread about Uther and his first movie epic, back in the early 1980’s.

            “It started as just collecting photos of my mother, but then it exploded when Arthur had his first magazine cover.  People just couldn’t stop taking picture of him.” Morgana took the magazine back, put it with the others, and retied the ribbon.  “Here.”  She took out another stack.  “This is the year before Arthur met you.”

            “Are they all candid?” Merlin asked, flipping through the papers.

            “Arthur doesn’t sit for portraits or photo shoots or whatever they’re called.”

            The magazines from the year before Merlin ever met Arthur were all of the actor out at pubs and clubs, restaurants and shops, mostly with different women by his side.  He did look fairly happy, Merlin supposed, but without that spark in his eyes that Merlin saw when they were together.  Arthur seemed to always have a drink in his hand or a cigarette between his fingers.

            “He looks happy,” observed Merlin.

            “Don’t read any of the news stories, they’re worthless.”  Morgana took everything about of Merlin’s hands before he had a chance to object.

            “Gwen gave me a bunch of stuff to read.  It looked kind of like this.”

            Morgana laughed.  “I gave them to her.”

            “ _You_?”

            “When she came to London to visit Lance.  You did notice she was gone for the weekend, didn’t you?”

            “Er, I suppose.  Yes.  She was gone loads of days, not really weekends, but—”

            “I know,” said Morgana, sounding bored.  “Mondays through Wednesdays she came to London.  I know and you know.  I’m going to leave you with these . . .”

            Merlin looked at the stack of papers and magazines Morgana put in his lap.  “Er. . . .”

            “Leon, let’s go make some breakfast.  I suppose Gwen will be down soon, yeah?”

            “Knowing Gwen and Lance?  They could spend all day wishing one another a Happy Christmas.” Leon got up and joined Morgana in the other room, leaving Merlin alone.

            He looked at the first magazine.  It looked like a piece of trash, a tabloid normally filled with lies, but perhaps if Morgana kept it, there was a bit of truth in it.  The front cover had a photo of – “Oh, shit, said Merlin, holding up the magazine and staring at it.  It was _him_ , hidden mostly by Arthur’s face as Arthur kissed him.  He studied the photo more closely; he could make out his shelves and the sign on his front door.  His fingers flipped to the middle of the magazine and he began to read.

______

            _Arthur Pendragon, twenty-eight, has been the most sought-after actor of our generation. He rose to fame after his twenty-first birthday when he starred in_ Damsel _. Even though it wasn’t his first movie, it was the highest-grossing film of the year.  During filming he began his on-again, off-again relationship with costar Catrina Weinberger.  After nearly a year together, he was suddenly spotted drinking with another costar of his next movie, American actress Nimueh Black.  This relationship seemed to have as chaotic a life as it did a beginning. The relationship with Nimueh, star of American sitcom_ Friends&Family _, had many affairs during the relationship, begging fans to ask whether they believed in polygamy.  Once Arthur turned twenty-five he seemed to slow-down and entered into a new era of his life with Sophia Michaels.  He and Sophia dated for a year before breaking up and were apart for nearly a year before joining once again.  It was only a few short weeks after publicly ending their relationship, the only relationship Arthur has ever personally delivered a public statement on, that he was photographed kissing another man._

_After looking back on Arthur’s love-life, certain questions must be asked.  Is Arthur gay or has he simply grown bored with his life?  Was this a publicity stunt or has he always been bisexual? The response is silence from Arthur’s representatives.  They ask for privacy, but already twelve of his fan-sites have been deleted from the internets.  We all wonder if this is a sign for what’s to come with the future of Arthur Pendragon’s career._

______

            All the photographs surrounding the two paragraphs were of Arthur and all his various trysts.  Merlin tossed the magazine on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his trousers as though the article had made him dirty.  The next few articles were just as ridiculous.

______

            _Arthur Pendragon has been dropped from two upcoming movies, both to be filmed in Ontario. Producers say his salary was too expensive for the medium-budgeted films, but sources have confirmed that his replacements command nearly twelve million dollars, barely a pay-cut from Arthur’s original fifteen._

______

            _Today, exactly two months after scandalous photographs were taken of his son kissing another man, Uther Pendragon has announced his retirement from directing. He has had a prestigious career, winning an Oscar and two BAFTA for Best Director.  Two of his movies have won Best Picture and he has directed four Oscar-nominated Best Actor/Actress and two Oscar-wins for Best Supporting Actress. Four of the last five movies he has directed have been the high-grossing films of the year.  He has never cast his son nor daughter in any of his films and he often competes with his son for biggest opening weekends on the three occasions they have had films premiering on the same day._

_Uther has not stated reason for his departure from directing, simply stating he will continue to produce and allow use of his personal studio space for films._

______

            _In a press conference today, Uther Pendragon has enraged millions of people, not only in England, but across the globe.  While Arthur Pendragon has never issued a formal statement about the photographs taken of him and a local Camelot Heights artist, his silence can only be assumed as confirmation of his homosexuality._

_Uther Pendragon has long been a pillar for family values, maintaining that it his duty as a public figure to be a role model for every child who looks up to him.  He wishes his son would fall into his footsteps and has lashed out, calling his son sinful and a disgrace to the Pendragon name._

_“My son may be my flesh and blood, but he has flaunted the good name of Pendragon for the last time.  For years he has been photographed hopping from one bed to another and forgetting the names of the girls in between.  This is just another one of his stunts, but he has embarrassed me for the last time. If he wishes to come back to my good graces, I will welcome him with open arms, but not until he puts these rebellious ways behind him.  Arthur is twenty-eight years of age, far too old to continue to act like a child.  One day he will wake up and realize it is time to marry and start a family and continue the Pendragon name.  This name has a legacy attached, beginning in the early twentieth century in silent movies.  Since then the Pendragons have been directors and producers and have always been a part of the film industry.  Hopefully Arthur will put this nonsense behind him and continue on with this legacy.”_

_When asked if he thought his son was gay, Uther replied, “If Arthur is gay […] then that is his choice and we have the freedom to make our life choices, as right or wrong as they may be.”_

______

            _Arthur Pendragon, once the world’s most famous actor, has fallen out of the public eye. Once a man who was photographed by the paparazzi nearly every day, Arthur has now kept his whereabouts a secret. Even though he has neither confirmed nor denied the true orientation of his sexuality, Hollywood has seemed to answer the question for him.  Despite auditioning for three major motion pictures, he was passed over for more favorable actors.  He was, however, offered a part in the new Ronald Jordan epic, playing the part of a university student still in the closet.  Whether this is Arthur’s not-so-subtle way of confirming the rumors or if it is simply the only available role he has been offered all year is still up for debate._

______

            Merlin finished looking through the magazines. He had never invested much of an interest in the media; he thought most of it was just lies anyway.  A funny feeling settled in his chest.  He could almost understand why Arthur would stay away for so long, even if he regretted what he had said to Merlin.  He was dropped from two productions, his father publicly disowned him, and in a year no one could write an article about him without speculating about his sexual orientation.  It must be exhausting to be Arthur Pendragon.

            Merlin put the box back in order and went into the kitchen to eat with Lance and Morgana.  It was the strangest Christmas he’d ever had.  Normally there were presents and laughter, hot chocolate made by his mothers, and a large dinner in which half of Ealdor was invited.  At Morgana’s everything was quiet.  She’d ordered dinner to be delivered and no one exchanged any gifts, even though Merlin had one for Gwen, but it never seemed the time to give it to her.

            The press conference was scheduled for noon the next day and Morgana planned to drive them all there by ten so hopefully they could intercept Arthur before the conference began.  The day was long and Merlin desperately missed his mother and uncle and each minute that passed was punctuated by the fact that Arthur never rang. Morgana didn’t seem too concerned.

            “He has several hiding places,” she had explained, “and he always goes to one of them when he wants to disappear.  He always shows up home a few days later.”

            Lance called to say Arthur had still not come back to his flat, but that they had booked two rooms at the hotel where the press conference was to be held and he would call the moment Arthur checked into his room.  Merlin didn’t remain optimistic about that, either.

            They watched Christmas classics on Morgana’s plasma television, Merlin aching for the distraction.  Leon and Morgana left around nine, bundling up in thick coats, and went out in the snow for a walk.  It was coming down softly, dusting the tops of cars parallel parked on the streets.  Lance had to leave to go to the hotel to wait for Arthur and ready everything for the press conference; Gwen decided to go with him.  Merlin hugged Gwen tightly and wished her a Happy Christmas, then shook Lance’s hand and said the same.  His lips betrayed him and he couldn’t help but smile at how happy they both looked together, their hands laced, wearing flannel-lined coats.  Gwen smiled back, an unspoken moment between them.

            Sleep evaded him for most of the night, but he finally fell asleep around two, his stomach somewhere about his throat, blood between his ears, and his palms covered in sweat.  If he was prone to panic anxiety attacks, he might suppose he was having one right now.  If he dreamt, he didn’t remember the next morning when he woke with a start, his heart racing as though a gunshot had just gone off.

            “What the _hell_?” he cried, bolting up in bed, the duvet having fallen on the floor sometime during the night.

            Morgana stood in the open doorway to his room, her hair a mess, looking murderous.

            “Morgana?”

            “Did you hear me?” she snapped.

            Merlin’s eyes widened.  Why was she so bloody upset with _him_?

            “I’m going to _kill my brother_.”

            Oh.  Merlin had no idea what she was on about.  He picked up his mobile from the bedside table and looked at it.  It was eight o’clock.

            “GET UP!  WE HAVE TO GO!”

            Merlin was struck by a memory of Arthur calling Morgana a harpy and resisted the urge to laugh.  “What’s going on?”

            “Lance just rang me – Arthur came to the hotel this morning and rescheduled the press conference to _right now_ – SO LET’S GO!”

            “All right, all right!”

            “He has a plane ticket to France immediately afterwards, so you have to catch him before it’s over!”

            “I can be ready in six minutes,” said Merlin – and he wasn’t lying.  He brushed his teeth in the shower, towel-dried his hair, and threw on his clothes. He didn’t bother tying his shoelaces; that could be done in the car.  He could hear shouting from downstairs, “MORGANA!  YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL WITHOUT MAKEUP, LETS GO!”  Merlin laughed as he ran out of the bedroom door.

            Somehow in just a handful of minutes, Morgana had gone from messy to sleek.  Her hair was smooth and shiny and she had on makeup.  Merlin had no idea how she did it, but perhaps it was part of the charm of being somewhat famous; you learned tricks to help always keep you beautiful.

            Morgana grabbed a banana for breakfast and ushered Merlin and Leon out the door.  Her car was parked on the street in front of her flat.  Merlin climbed in the backseat, his body shaking, but not from the cold, from the anticipation of seeing Arthur, of trying to put the pieces of them back together.  He watched as Morgana sped through the streets, driving with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the banana as she ate.

            The car weaved in and out of traffic and Merlin began to feel sick to his stomach from both nerves and the speed of the car.

            “Did Gwen tell Arthur I’m coming?”

            “By the time anyone realized that Arthur had rescheduled his press conference, it was too late and he was already in front of all those reporters.  I’m sure she’ll try to stall him afterwards.”

            Merlin nodded, more to himself than anything else, and closed his eyes, trying to think of positive things, trying to get his heart to stop heating so loudly between his ears.  Morgana and Leon kept talking throughout the ride, but Merlin couldn’t seem to force himself to pay attention.  He wasn’t sure how long they drove, perhaps close to thirty minutes, but he opened his eyes only when he felt the car slow down and stop.

            “Er, is this the car park?” asked Merlin.

            “It’s the back of the hotel.  I can’t find a place for my car.  Leon, help Merlin find the Grand Balloon – that’s where Arthur’s press conference will be unless he’s been a complete arse again and changed the room like he changed the time.”

            Merlin jumped out of the car and ran with Leon to the back entrance of the hotel.  The door was thankfully unlocked and they went inside.  The door led to a corridor that went all the way through to the front lobby of the hotel.  Leon tugged on Merlin’s jacket and they jogged over to a large sign that mapped out the conference rooms and ballrooms of the hotel.

            “Here,” pointed Merlin.

            “And we’re here.”  Leon pointed to a gold star on the map.  “So we need to go this way.”

            Merlin followed Leon down another corridor that led past the lifts.  The carpet was a deep wine red and thick, absorbing the sound of their feet as they ran. They passed other rooms and many confused (and annoyed) looking butlers and guests.  Then, at the end of the corridor were to large double doors, carved with intricate designs, already earning the Grand Ballroom its name.

            “Lance!” cried Leon.  “Thank god.”

            “Fuck, can you believe this shit?” said Lance. “Arthur refused to see me this morning. I tried to talk to him, but he locked himself in his room like a bloody fifteen-year-old and I didn’t see him until he came out of his hotel room – but then he was on that bloody” – Lance imitated Arthur’s fingers tapping away on his iPhone – “mobile, talking to someone from Lufthansa and then – nothing.  I’m in charge of front security.”

            Merlin blinked, trying to digest this information. “It’s all right,” he said, “I understand.  Can I – is it all right if we watch the press conference?  We’ll hide in the back.”

            Lance nodded.  “Of course.  I’ll pretend you’re on the list.”

            “What’s the conference about?” asked Merlin.

            “Arthur’s taking time off – didn’t you know?”

            Merlin shook his head.  “No, of course not.”

            Lance opened the ballroom doors for Merlin and Leon and the two men walked inside.  The ballroom was oversized and filled with rows and rows of chairs. Behind the chairs and on either side of the room were cameramen, some taking video and others taking regular film photographs.  Arthur sat at a table in front, up on a stage, between two people.  To Arthur’s right sat a girl whom Merlin thought must have been Arthur’s PA, from all the descriptions he had heard about her.  On Arthur’s left was a gentleman in his forties with salt and pepper hair and an American accent.  He was the one pointing to the reporters one by one and calling upon them to ask their questions.  Merlin wasn’t sure who he was.

            “That’s Arthur’s publicist,” said Leon, as if reading Arthur’s mind.  “His name’s Walter and I think this past year has about given him a heart attack. Looks rather like he’s aged about ten years.”

            Merlin nodded and tried to listen.

            “Yes, Marvin, your question next.”  Merlin was surprised that the publicist knew any of the reporters names, but then if Arthur had been doing press conferences for a while, perhaps it wasn’t so abnormal.

            A tall man in a green shirt stood and spoke loudly, “Arthur, you say that you’re taking a year off from acting, but does that also include directing?”

            Arthur shifted in his chair.  Merlin was struck by how tired Arthur looked, and how dejected.

            “A full year off from any kind of work,” answered Arthur.  “I don’t want to say that I am retiring from acting altogether, because I may take a part again in the future, but since my father’s own retirement, I think I would like to try and fill his shoes and direct a picture or two.”

            “Yes, you in the pink shirt, what’s your question?”

            A man in a pale pink shirt stood up next and asked,  “Does any of this come as an effect of the fallout from your father?”

            “No,” said Arthur almost immediately.  “Nothing I do is in direct correlation to my father.”

            “Mavis, your turn,” said Walter.

            An older woman stood, looking somewhat harried. “Thanks, Walter.  Arthur, will you stay in London during your year off?”

            “No.  I’m planning on going to France for a little while.  I own a house there and one in Italy, so I think I shall split my time between the two.”

            Walter pointed to the other side of the room. Merlin quickly stepped behind a cameraman to avoid being seen.  From behind him, Leon sniggered.

            “Arthur – whatever happened to the bloke you were photographed with in Camelot?”

            Merlin felt all the warmth leave his body and he stood there, frozen, waiting to hear Arthur’s response.  He glanced at the stage and watched Arthur talk to his publicist, a hand covering the microphone on the table so no one could hear their voices. Arthur pulled away from the powwow, nodding.

            “He is doing well and still living in Camelot Heights.”

            “Harold,” said Walter, “your turn.”

            “Yes, thank you.  Arthur, you never confirmed after those photographs were taken if you are indeed gay.”

            The room went very still, all the pens stopped scratching away on notebooks and Merlin was certain everyone was holding their breath.

            It took a few moments before Arthur answered. He seemed to be thinking of exactly what to say.  He held up a hand to his publicist, who seemed to want to confer with him before replying to Harold’s question.

            “Well,” said Arthur, “one can’t really deny that _something_ is different when he’s caught kissing another man.  I thought for a while of releasing a statement saying that I was bisexual, but if we’re going to be honest, and I think we should always be honest, then I have to reply with a yes.  Yes, I am gay.”

            “Holy shit,” muttered Leon over the cacophony of mutters, whispers, and gasps.  The voices were trapped inside the room, bouncing off the walls, and Merlin was overwhelmed by the journalists’ reaction.

            Walter didn’t seem to be too happy, in fact he looked rather green as he called on the next reporter.

            A short woman with glasses stood.  She smiled brightly.  “Hello, Arthur, so lovely to see you.  My question is surrounding the man from Camelot Heights. Are you still seeing him?  And if not, then why not?”

            Merlin thought Arthur’s publicist might throw up at any moment.

            “Lovely to see you as well,” replied Arthur somewhat dryly.  “We are not currently seeing one another.  I’ve been busy with my acting career that it hasn’t allowed me any free time to even ring him up.  But that is more my fault than his.  Wherever he is, I wish him well, and I think upon him very fondly.”

            Before he could stop himself, Merlin stepped from behind the cameraman and raised his hand amongst the other journalists.

            “Yes, you, in the back with the plaid shirt.”

            Leon elbowed him.  “That’s _you_.”

            The journalists in front of him turned around, parting just enough that he had a clear view of Arthur sitting behind the table. For a moment their eyes met and Arthur’s turned wide, shocked, before returning to normal.

            “Er,” said Merlin.  “Yes, um, are there any circumstances in which you might think about this fellow from Camelot Heights with more than just fondness?”

            “Well,” began Arthur slowly, “I have thought about him with more than sheer fondness before, but any feelings on his part have not been reciprocated.”

            “But what—” began Merlin.

            “Only one question at a time,” interrupted Walter.

            “No, that’s all right, let him finish.”

            Merlin felt his cheeks heat up and he hoped no one else in the room noticed he was blushing.  “Yes.  Right. Er, what if this bloke changed his mind and did want to reciprocate those feelings?”

            The room broke out in mutterings again, journalists bowing their heads together, confusion furrowing their eyebrows.  Merlin ignored their turned faces, the muted wondering written in their expressions.  As Arthur held his gaze for several moments, the rest of the room holding their breath again, before nodding his head and answering.  “Then I might be inclined to try again with him, if he was sure that’s what he wanted.”

            “Oh, he’s sure,” said Merlin, “definitely sure.”

            Murmurs and mutterings broke out amongst the reporters and journalists, but Merlin tried to ignore them.  He watched as Arthur took his mobile out of his pocket and began tapping it, sending a text message.  Then Arthur leaned over towards his publicist and whispered something to him.

            “Mavis,” said Arthur’s publicist, looking somewhat unsure, “will you ask your most recent question again?”

            Mavis stood and flipped back a page in her notebook. “Yes, all right.  Arthur, will you stay in London during your year off?”

            “No,” answered Arthur, “I think I’ll stay in Camelot Heights instead.”

            Merlin covered his face in his hands, a feeling of relief washing over him.  Tears stung his eyes, partly from happiness, partly from exhaustion.  He felt sick and wonderful at once, the competing emotions flowing through his body.  He took in a deep breath as a hand clapped him on his shoulder.  He turned and looked at Lance who now stood behind him.

            “Come with me.”  Merlin followed Lance out of the ballroom.  “Read this.”  He handed Merlin his mobile.

            _Have Elspeth cancel my flight to France ASAP.  Take Merlin to my hotel room upstairs.  Will wrap up this in 30 minutes._

            Merlin handed the phone back, completely unable to hide the smile from his face.  They walked into the front lobby just as Morgana ran inside.  She stopped in front of them, breathing hard and trying to catch her breath.

            “Did I miss it?  What’s happened?”

            Merlin just smiled wider and hugged her.

______

            Merlin adjusted the blue silk tie around his throat and looked in the mirror.  He refused to let anyone touch his hair, but he had allowed a stylist to choose the clothes he would wear.  He had never worn trousers tailored with such a close cut or that he didn’t walk on with his heels, fraying the hem. 

            “Doesn’t it feel good to wear clothes that fit?”

            Merlin looked at Arthur through the bathroom mirror. Arthur stood behind him, reached around, and straightened Merlin’s tie.  He smiled and kissed Merlin’s neck. 

“Now it’s perfect.”

Merlin grinned and blushed.  “I feel rather ill,” he confessed.

            “Really?  I’m not surprised, you’re not really the sort to like being the center of attention.”

            “Exactly, so let’s just go home, yeah?”

            Arthur shook his head.  “We’ll go home _after_.”

            “But—”

            Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and whirled him around so they were facing one another.  “It’s going to be _fine_. So you’ll get a few photos taken of you, but we can walk inside quickly and then we won’t be around any journalists and we can sneak out the back door.”

            “You better win,” mumbled Merlin.

            “Come on.”  Arthur took Merlin’s hand and led him out of the bathroom.  He helped him with his jacket and then with his coat, and they went outside to face the harsh winds of winter.  Arthur’s car was out front and he held open the door for Merlin, like a gentlemen.  When Arthur got in, he turned the car on and let it idle for a moment to warm up. “I’m really proud of you,” he said.

            “For what?” asked Merlin.

            Arthur smirked.  “Because it’s been two years and two books.  You had a very successful art show and—”

            “Enough,” said Merlin, shaking his head.  “Can you turn the heat on?  It’s cold.”

            “Merlin . . .”

            “I just don’t like all this traveling.  I like being home with you.”

            “In Camelot Heights.”

            Merlin nodded.  “In Camelot Heights,” he confirmed.

            Things hadn’t been easy for them.  Two years before, Arthur had ended his press conference early, raced to his hotel room, and promptly apologized to Merlin over and over again with his mouth and hands.  They’d fallen into an ease over the next year, finding comfort in the pinky oranges of early morning, tangled in the bed sheets, with stale morning breath.  They found comfort in the quiet of morning tea, toast with burnt edges, and the bumping of elbows as they both tried to read the morning paper.  Comfort in the afternoons when Merlin napped, his head on Arthur’s knee, Arthur making notes in a script and smoothing Merlin’s hair in between scribbling with his pen.  The evenings with poker games, bottles of beer, thick laughter that filled the room, and touches – a surreptitious hand on a thigh, a slight squeeze, a wink, a sigh.

            That had been the first year, when Arthur had taken his break from work, his year-long holiday.  He let a house in Camelot Heights for the year, but kept his flat in London as a place to stay when he needed to go into the city.  They had a few tiffs during that year, mostly because Merlin thought Arthur could be an arrogant prat and Arthur thought Merlin was moody, like a girl – _“I am NOT a girl!”_ Merlin would always argue.  Still, they were very content.  Until Arthur went back to work.  He took a job directing a small independent film in France, which took him away for three months.  He came back as often as he could and Merlin went and visited him once, but that stretch was hard on both of them.  Merlin resented Arthur for leaving; Arthur resented Merlin for not being more understanding.

            Arthur came home for a month and things were good – better than good.  He helped Merlin select photographs for a second book; he even wrote the foreword. Then he got a part in a film, but he stipulated in his contract that it must be filmed in London or he wouldn’t do it. He was gone for two months, but luckily it was only a two-hour train ride between the city and Camelot Heights. Arthur helped Merlin set-up a show in an art gallery in London, which brought him to the city for several weeks. Merlin didn’t mind the city and he was able to provide coverage for his shop so it could stay open while he was away, but it wasn’t _home_.  In the end, they had a massive blow-up that resulted in Merlin leaving London and going back to his flat and Arthur not calling for over a week. Merlin was the first to give in, taking the train all the way back to London, and back into Arthur’s arms.

            Almost immediately after his film was done shooting, Arthur was offered a script to direct.  It was the perfect film for him, the type of movie he and Merlin often talked about in those secret moments before sleep.  They knew the film wouldn’t take long to shoot, but then there was editing and reshoots and a whole list of complications that would keep Arthur away from Merlin. 

            Merlin cried at the airport, looking at Arthur’s ticket – from London to Los Angeles, with a connecting flight in Atlanta.

            “You can come with me,” said Arthur.  “I’ll buy you a ticket right now.”

            “I can’t.  I just – three months, Arthur.  I can’t for three months.  My life is here.  My clothes and my camera—”

            “I’ll buy you new clothes and a new camera.” Arthur pressed his forehead against Merlin’s.  “Come with me.”

            “No, if I do I’ll lose myself in you and forget who I am.  It’s what I did the last two months in London.  I barely spoke to Gwen or took any new photographs.”

            “I know,” said Arthur, with voice firm with understanding. 

            “Go now,” said Merlin, “before I agree to go with you.”

            Once Arthur left, Merlin sat in the airport, arms wrapped around himself, unable to force himself to leave.  They had driven one of Arthur’s cars to the airport and it was sitting in the car park.  Merlin knew that it would feel so wrong, so lonely to drive the little red coupe all the way back to Arthur’s flat.  Merlin shut off his mobile and didn’t check his email for the first month Arthur was away. He couldn’t face the time away. He was punishing Arthur and it made him feel guiltier.  Gwen wanted to commit him, but he just retreated further into his hole. 

            Arthur came to Camelot Heights after six weeks. Merlin folded himself into Arthur and cried from want.  _Hopeless without you_ , he whispered.  _I know_ , breathed Arthur _, me too_.  But he left again, after four days in Camelot, and headed back to Los Angeles. This time was better, this time Merlin answered his phone and even allowed himself to be talked into checking his email _every_ morning instead of just on Mondays.  When Arthur came home, it was as though he had never left.  The film was done and he brought a rough copy home to show Merlin, who instantly loved it.

            Merlin wasn’t sure where they were going to go from here.  Arthur had been home for three months and they were perfect, beautiful.  Merlin took photos and Arthur helped develop them; Arthur read scripts and Merlin helped critique them.  Still, Merlin lived in apprehension of what was going to happen next.  At any moment Arthur could get the chance to star in a new movie or direct the next blockbuster hit.  And then where would Merlin fit in?

            “Are you going to go?” asked Merlin, still shivering.

            “I turned the heat on,” said Arthur.  “So, if I don’t win tonight—”

            “I’ll still love you,” interrupted Merlin. 

            “I was offered another script to direct,” said Arthur.

            “Oh.  I was wondering when it would happen.”

            “It’s filmed mostly in London, but there’s a part or two in Italy.  I pushed back production until September.”

            “Really?  Why?” Merlin stared at his shoes, which were very shiny.

            “Those are the slowest months in Camelot,” replied Arthur, reaching and taking Merlin’s hand.  “I thought you should come with me – you should always come with me. We’re going to film in September through November, and you’ll get home in time for the weekends before Christmas.”

            “Really?”

            “Look, I don’t really want to give up my career. I really love it, to be honest. Acting I could give or take, but directing is really brilliant.  But . . .” Arthur held more tightly onto Merlin’s hand.  “But it’s you that I can’t give up.  I want to make it work, so we’ll compromise.  I’ll stay in Camelot with you nine of the year, but you _must_ come with me during three months, wherever I go, to work.”

            “What if it takes longer than three months?”

            “Merlin,” said Arthur, warningly.  “I won’t take anything longer than three months, but you have to agree to—”

            “Yes, yes,” said Merlin, all but launching himself across the car and kissing Arthur, his arms around his neck.

            “Look, Merlin . . . we have to compromise on this, so we can work it out.  I don’t want you to turn your mobile off for weeks at a time just because you’re upset that I’m filming in America.  Next time, you’ll come with me.”

            “I can do that,” said Merlin honestly.  “I can give you three months of the year.”

            “But I have another condition.”

            “What?”

            “You’ve got to stop keeping all your shit at your little flat.  We’ll pick a house out together, because what’s the point otherwise?”

            Merlin nodded.  “Yes, all right.  Let’s go get you a BAFTA, all right?  Best British Film, perhaps?”

            “Perhaps,” said Arthur and then he kissed Merlin again. “Perhaps.”

______

**End.**


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